The Truth Really, Really Hurts (NOT abandoned)
by Syri-LLC
Summary: Piper Halliwell left baby Chris in the care of Victor for a week. And never came back. 16 years later, Chris, who always believed one day his family would come back for him, that they love him and it's all been a mistake, learns the harsh reality...
1. Chapter 1

Never fear! Destined to Die will continue, I just wanted to lay claim to this story before someone else got to it!

I don't own NOTHING. Same goes for D2D.

Summary; 16 years ago, Piper Halliwell abandoned her youngest son. But Chris never wanted to accept the fact that his family never loved him. When he finds the truth, it's like a slap in the face...

A/N/ Some might say this is AU, but, come on! NO ONE ever mentions Chris anymore!

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"OK, he's asleep upstairs, monitor's in the living room, and there's plenty of food in the cabinet. We won't be long!" quipped Piper Halliwell to her father, Victor as she zipped the coat of her oldest boy.

"Alright hon. But I'm still not sure why you aren't taking him with you. Chris loves the zoo," responded Victor slowly. They where gathered in the kitchen, Victor drying the dishes, and Piper preparing to spend some quality time with Wyatt at the zoo as a special treat. "And he's been a good boy, just like Wyatt."

With his back to his daughter, Victor failed to see the look that flickered over Pipers face. One who would have seen it might have described it as a mix of annoyance, and outrage, as though the idea of taking her baby out with her was a ludicrous idea...

"No, Chris is allergic to anything with fur," she explained, stooping down to pick up Wyatt. "Besides, he gets really fussy when he's out too long, and, well," she trailed off her voice quickly. "We'll see you later Dad!" and with that, she bustled out the door, Wyatt sitting contently on her hip.

Victor sighed, piling the last dish into the cabinet. He could see Pipers logic; Chris DID tend to get fussy a lot, but he'd always been a sort of nervous, jumpy child. Come to think of it, he'd always been nervous and jumpy PERIOD. Oh, well, he concluded, making his way up stairs, more time for us to spend together...

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"Chris loves playing with Wyatt's friends!" Victor argued with his son-in-law, both of them getting a little testy. Leo was having a play group for Wyatt and his little friends today at the manor, and had asked Victor to take Chris back to his apartment for the day.

"They're two years older then him!" Leo snapped back. "Besides, he'd just get upset when the older kids ignored him, and start crying."

"He's one! That's what babies do!"

"Victor, please! I'm his father! I think I know what's best for him! Any way, we have to keep up pretenses! Two sets of cousins, with children the same age? How well would that go over?" and with that, he stormed away, leaving Victor alone in the attic with tiny Chris, who remained completely unaware of the emotions flying high in the room. Victor didn't even get to respond with a logical, Maybe the cousin adopted the orphaned baby, ever think of that?

"Alrighy Kiddo!" Victor chirped happily, for the benefit of his grandson. "Let's go. We'll have our OWN party at Grandpas. How's that sound?"

Chris just smiled and squealed happily up at his Grandpa, causing Victors heart to just melt...

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"Please Dad! It's for his own good!" pleaded Piper desperately. "With the FBI on our case, and every one re-opening magic school, what can we do!"

Piper Paige and Phoebe had shown up on Victor doorstep late that evening, Piper coddling Wyatt on her hip, with Chris strapped in his stroller. As soon as he'd answered the door, they started begging Victor to take care of Chris for a week or so, until they could smooth the whole "Glamour spell used for personal gain comes back to bite them in the butt" thing out.

"Piper, you know I'd be glad to take Chris, but why not Wyatt?"

"Wyatts a lot more powerful then Chris. He can take care of himself, can't you sweetie?" she beamed proudly at her oldest...a look Victor had never seen her gaze at Chris with.

"Please, Daddy!" Phoebe wheedled. "Just for a couple of weeks! If we're exposed, they'll cart him off to some orphanage and we'd never see him again!"

Suddenly, Piper turned to her sister and said, in a rush, "Maybe we shouldn't leave him at Dad's, Phoebe. He's busy, and Caring for a baby is hard. There are plenty of good home in San Fr..."

"Don't you finish that sentence, Piper Halliwell!" Victor practical screamed. He couldn't handle the idea of Chris being carted off to some stranger. "Of course I'll take him! I'll be glad to take care of him however long you need me too!"

"Great!" Piper smiled broadly, pushing the stroller inside and depositing Chris's diaper bag beside him. "We'll be back for him... Thanks so much Dad!"

And Piper and her sisters turned away, Piper still holding Wyatt close to her, stroking back his thin blonde curls. There confident stride and giddy smiles weren't ones of a family in danger of being arrested, or that of a mother being separate from her baby. Victor shook his head in shock, not wanting to believe it. She didn't, she would never, ever...

No, Victor, stop lying to yourself, he scolded. Numb from disbelief, he turned and closed the door behind him, and unstrapped Chris from his stroller, holding his tight as he quite happily drooled over Grandpas shoulder.

Walking him over to the window, he stared out onto the parking lt, searching out his daughters car. He spotted them just as they were closing the doors, and Victor caught a glimpse of Piper through her window, smiling brightly back at Wyatt.

"Bubye Mommy!" babbled Chris, waving his tiny little hand, gigging as he used the words that Victor had taught him. God knows he used it enough now adays.

But this was different, and Victor knew it. Gently running his hand over Chris dark hair, he stood quietly for a moment, letting it all sink in.

Piper Halliwell had abandoned her baby.


	2. Chapter 2

First, I so sorry it took so long to update (Nikkie14u? I will NEVER harrass you again!) But, here it is.

A VERY important authors note. I am always open to criticism, of course, but this is the first story in which I will request that no flames be written. This story is very endearing and more personal to me then simply a Chris-fic. There is a reason, at least, to me, as to everything in this story. There are gonna be a lot of things (like in this chapter, actually) that don't seem to have any point to them at all. To me, they do. Thank you!

Also, this chapter has flashed forward 16 years, and Chris is now 17. There will be flahbacks through out the story though. Enjoy!

Oh, one more thing. Forensics is a group I belong in. It's like competitive solo/duet acting and speech-giving. Chris is in it. Why? Cause I say so! Lol

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The first thing that welcomed Victor Bennet home that evening was the lyrics of Big and Rich blasting from his grandsons room. He cringed slightly, but made no attempt to yell over the rucurous beat of "Comin' to your City".

Slinging his coat off his shoulders, he draped it across the nearest available chair and headed over to the door at the end of the short hallway. He didn't bother knocking, it wouldn't have done any good.

He gave a quick glance around the room when he opened the door. There was no doubt in anyone mind as to who the tenant of the room was. Loud music, dirty clothes, a bit of Thursdays leftovers, all characteristics of the natural habitat of the Teenage Boy.

After sifting his eyes through the clutter, he decided that the crumbled lump on the bed was, indeed, Christopher. He was laying on his stomach atop his wrinkled hunter-green bed sheets, his Honors English book strewn in front of him, as well, as two work sheets, sloppy notes, and a ham sandwich.

Noticing the change in light falling across his bed, Chris's head shot up instantly; he was, still, a very nervous and jumpy boy.

He smiled, though, as he recognized his grandfather. He shouted something over the music, but the words never made it from pint A to point B. Victor began gesturing for Chris to turn the music down, exageratingly pointing his fingers to the floor.

Chris, however, just looked at Victor a moment, before following his motions and looking down at the floor. Yeah, he thought. It's dirty. What else is new?

He looked back up at gramps with a blank expression on his face. Taking a calming breathe (his getting angry wasn't good for him OR Chris...) He tried again at the pantomime, ponting to the stereo before pointing down.

Chris got the "Oh NOW I get it" teenage look on his face before waving a casual hand in the general direction of his CD player. Immediately, the music stopped.

Magic was one thing that Victor had worried constantly about when he first took his grandson in. It wasn't just the demons and the threats, they never had a problem with those. It was the fact that Chris was a baby, he had no training with his powers. He considered getting Piper to strip his powers, but had discarded the contemplation almost instantly. First off, he didn't really want to speak to his oldest at the moment.

And besides, it would have been cruel and selfish to bind his powers. Magic was the only tie Chris had to his past, his heritage...his family...

He handled his powers amazingly well, though. He'd been assigned a Whitelighter when he was about three, but he had little use for her. He came into his powers quickly, and mastered them with astounding skill.

Piper was always so proud of her first-born. The most powerful Magical being ever born

But Victor would have bet money that Chris could kick Wyatt's Magical ass any day!

"Hey Grandpa! What's up?" Chris asked closing his English book.

"Hey Chris. How was school?" Victor asked, settling himself down on the swivel chair in front of Chris's desk.

"Not bad," he responded. "Anatomy's still Hell though. Mr. Wilson say's we'll be disecting those damn cats all year long!" he groaned flopping himself again his headboard.

Victor couldn't respond, he just shuddered at the thought.

"What about Forensics? You have practice tomorrow?"

"Yup. The whole school can tell it's getting close to competition season. Mr. A is a nervous wreck right before a tournament!"

"Do you feel that you're. Um...performing well in your troop? You're not...uh..having any more difficulty with your speech...are you?" he asked, treading lightly on the topic. It still bothered him, almost four years later...

Chris, however, didn't quite share his grandfathers taboo on the subject. Tucking his long hair behind his ears, he shook his head.

"No, it's fine. Ms. Menoz has been helping me with volume and annunciation, so unless I get a headache during pre-lims, I'm fine. Really!" he accentuated his point once more.

Victor, however, didn't have his focus on Chris's defense. His gaaze unconsiously shifted to his grandsons right ear, where his hearing aid was clearly visible. Chris noticed his grandpa's direction of concentration, and sighed deeply. Victor had taken the whole thing pretty hard, and that was understandable; Chris was a son to him. But it had happened to Chris, after all. It still hurt just to think about it...

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_Chris had always gotten horrible ear aches from the time he was little. It never seemed like anything serious, all kids had them, right? Victor had never seen them as anything more then a nuisance for his grandson. But around the time he turned thirteen, they started getting worse. He had them almost constantly, now accompanied by a fever, and he had trouble understanding what was being said to him. One evening, it got so painful for him, he spent the entire night up in bed, crying and clinging tightly to Victor, who never felt so helpless. He wanted so badly to ease Chris's pain, but there was little he could do. He'd put off taking him to a doctor; they had no insurance at the time, and wasn't making a lot of money. But his grandsons health was his top priority, and Chris was admitted to the hospital that night._

_It took two days before his doctor finally came up with a diagnosis. Chris had substantial damage and poor development to inner structures in both ears, likely to have been present since before birth. He told them that he was likely to have developed some sort of infection as an infant, and it persisted, further deteriorating the structures. Every time he'd gotten ill or run down, he'd develop another infection, which would defiantly not improve the situation_

_But that was only the good news. Chris's doctor had told him right off that there was nothing they could do to repair the damage already done, and little they could do to prevent more. Chris, though he dreaded the answer, asked what was going to happen to him, and the new was the worst he ever had to hear._

_He was told he would almost certainly loose most of his hearing, if not be stricken completely deaf. There wasn't much they could do to prevent it, but instead focused on trying to help him deal. ..._

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_It only took four months before Chris lost his hearing, and it was more difficult for him than any one could EVER know. He used a hearing aid now, which helped, but he still had trouble hearing words spoken in a tone that Victor would have found quite normal. He had to drop one of his favorite classes, Spanish, because, as he soon found, it was a daunting enough challenge to learn to read lips in English, let alone a whole nother language._

Chris did the sulking, the anger, the crying, but he refused to accept more help then he himself deemed necessary. He refused to take any special lessons to help him, claiming he could do fine without them. After failing both Algebra and Biology, however, he conceded to take a Study Skills class during school. Ms. Menoz, his para, helped him more then he thought anyone could. At first she would simply help with the homework he didn't understand, only hearing fragments of the lecture. After a few months though, she finally convinced him to take more lessons on ways to deal with his disability. He had little use for sign language, as his school had no interpreter, and, despite efforts, the only sign Victor could use was one he reserved mostly for rush hour traffic. (And he'd slapped Chris upside the head the first time he'd used it!) Though he slowly learned to read lips quite well. It helped tremendously, except in English. His teacher found it very disconcerting, having those green eyes focused so intently on him the entire hour. Needless to say, Chris wasn't a big fan of that teacher.

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Chris, realizing that he'd just zoned out completely, shook his head, bringing his back to realizy.

"So, what do you want for dinner? There's still some roast in the ice box, I could make potatoes to go with 'em."

"Sounds fine to me" Victor agreed, slowly bringing hiself to his feet, cursing however had the bright idea of putting wheels on desk chairs. And not silently either.

"I'll be out in a minute, just...don't try to get a head start, OK?" Chris warned, in as best a serious voice he could. He was NEVER going to let Victor live down his last kitchen disaster. Chris never knew it was possible to scorch water...

"Trust me, I learned my lesson last time. I'll leave the cooking to you, Mr. Lagase!" He chuckled at his own poor joke, smiling to himself...

Untill he was met face to face with Piper Halliwell...

Well, not in the flesh, of course. He hadn't heard from her in almost six years now. What he saw was a photograph, carefully framed and matted, hanging silently on Chris's bedroom wall, smiling down at her son...

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"_Christopher, where are you?" Victor howled, still searching for his elusive grandchild. He though he'd seen the worst at age two, but that was NOTHING compared to six, nothing! Chris had started a new "game" recently, pretending he was a famous explorer, and scoured every inch of their apartment over and over, for hours at a time. He never gt bored of it. A crumpled blanket in the corner became a sleeping dragon, guarding his treasure. The washing machine was a snow-capped Everest, waiting for the next brave soul to chart it's peak. ("Everest" had given Chris_ _nine snitches on his leg after his first climb. But he did it again..and again...)_

_Victor, despite the fact that "Exploring" was a rather noisy game, let Chris carry on. Just no more mountains. He would see Chris run across the living room, narrating his story out loud to himself, playing both the brave conquerer, and the vicious fiend he was pitted against. It warmed Victore clear through to see Chris smiling, laughing, as though there wasn't a thing in the wrold that could worry him..._

_But the apartment was silent. Only minutes ago, Victor could hear Chris in the hallway, goingon about an amazing maze, but now, all was silent..._

"_Chris?_ _Chris, come on, where are you?" Voctor called throughout the apartment. He worried constantly about Christopher, both for his health and happiness._

_He found Chris rather easily, though, sitting in Victors closet, an open shoebox in front of him. He didn't look up when his grandpa called his name, just continued to stare at the photgraph clutched in his small hand. Victor felt his heart jump as he got a better look at it._

_It was Piper. Photo taken on her wedding day. Her hair was pulled away from her face, framed with white silf flowers. She smiled warmly from the photograph, as Chris just sat there, as though transfixed to her image._

"_Grammpa?" he asked softly after a moent, still not averting his eyes._

"_Yes Chris?" Victor responded warrily, knowing instantly what Chris's queation would be._

_Christopher held the picture out for his 'grammpa' to see better, "Who is this?" he asked, his eyes wide and innocent._

_Victor closed his eyes a moment, sighing deeply. He stooped over, pulling Chris onto his hip, and took him to sit on the bed, Chris nestled in his lap._

"_That's your mother, Chris," he told him, his voice soft and warm._

_Chris was slightly taken aback. It had never crossed his mind that he had a Mommy. He wouldn't start school until August, and he didn't know any one his own age, so he didn't know that most children had one._

"_Well, where is she?" he pressed, locking his gaze with Victors. There was something in those deep green orbs that Victor had never seen before, and hoped he wouldn't have to for sometime._

_He had never told Chris about his parents, and he had never even given them a thought before now. He knew he was a witch, and that was it._

_But he wouldn't keep that innocence forever, Victor had always knew. And now that Chris had found out, it was something that he would never get back._

"_She...She's in California, Chris, she lives in San Francisco."_

"_Well, why is she in sand Frinescko?" Chris wanted to know, his face turning quizzical. He watched TV, and the kids on TV never had Mommie's living in California..._

_Victor wrapped his arms tightly around his grandson, holding him close, carefully choosing his words..._

"_Well, Chris, you see, sometimes when a Mommy has a baby, she...she can't take care of him by herself."_

"_Why? Was I bad?" Chris worried, his eyes wide with apprehension._

"_No! No, Chris, you wheren't bad, you never could be! Now, Chris, I want you to understand this, I think you're a big boy now, and **can** understand this. Your mother not being here was NOT your fault, it had nothing to do with you. Your Mommy, she just...couldn't take care of you. But don't you ever, Ever, think of blaming youself for it. Do you see?"_

_Chris pondered this new information for a moment, then nodded, slowly and solemnly. His eyes dropped back down to the photograph his hands. Mommy? He thought, trying the sound out in his head. Then out loud. He smiled slightly, he liked the sound. Chris wondered why his Mommy was in California..she must like it there, it must be nice! She looks SO pretty..._

_It was then that he made up his mind. When he was bigger, he'd go to Sing Frinnaso and meet his Mommy. On TV, and in the stories Grammpa read, Mommies baked cookies, and tucked you in at night, and made boo-boos stop hurting. Grammpa did that for him, but maybe...maybe his Mommy can help take care of him someday...he'd like that._

_He'd look for her some day..._

_...and maybe she'd be looking for him!_

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There you go, I hope you enjoy! I think I'll have the ral "meat" of the story in about two chapters. And please, review!


	3. Chapter 3

You guys! Thank you all so much for the great reviews! I'm sorry that I don't update as much as I'd like, but I want this story to be written just so!

A/N at my school, Alas Babylon is required reading in junior year. I'm only a sophomore, but I read the book last year, and loved it. If you havn't read it, it is a MUST READ!

Also, I don't think I mentioned this before, But Chris and Victor live in Colorado. Why? Cause I said so:)

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Chris reopened his English book, trying to finish his lesson. The book contained ten classic works of literature, and currently his class was reading Alas, Babylon. The majority of his class despised the assignment, but Chris, however, thoroughly enjoyed it. His bedroom was lined with bookcases, each shelf stacked his hard covers and paper backs, fiction and biographies. He read constantly, as reading was one of the few things he could do without any difficulty. He had joined his high schools Forensics Squad last year almost as an act of defiance. His teachers and Grandpa wanted to coddle him, try and keep him from doing anything that he wouldn't be able to do, to make him feel normal. But it had only an adverse effect.

When he'd approached Mr. A. About joining the team, he'd, of course, told Chris it wouldn't be a good idea. He could memorize his piece without any problem, but actually performing it? That was a whole different matter. Chris's speech wasn't perfect. His words often slurred, and he had a tendency to mumble, or shout. But he wanted to prove he could do it. He'd never been too interested in acting, but his school didn't offer debate, so this was the most 'rebellious' activity he could find.

Ms. Menoz, however, thought it was a wonderful idea. Twice a week after Chris recieved his cutting from Mr. A (A humorous Solo, in which his coach felt any 'unintended problems' would go un noticed) Ms. Menoz coached Chris on his articulation of his piece. She taught him to remember the _feel_ of the words as he spoke them in the correct pitch and volume. He worked on it constantly, practicing at the wall in his room. It was less then a month till the first competition, yet Chris had felt ready to perform. And he was. His first tournament, he took fifth in HS, and by the time the season had ended, he had two state qualifications. ( it rather annoyed Victor and his teachers, though, that even though he could perform his selection with perfect fluency, his normal speech always, sounded as though he hadn't practiced at all!) This year, he had both a Humorous Solo, and a prose.

Heaving a sigh he couldn't hear, Chris closed his book, set it aside, and stood up. He paused on his way out the door, just long enough to gaze at the phonograph on his wall. He smiled.

He still kept the promise he made to himself 11 years ago. His mother occupied a great deal of his musings. He wondered constantly what she looked like now. What did she do for a living? Was she still married to his father? Did she ever have an other children?

The possibility of Chris having siblings made him feel odd. He'd love to spoil and tease a little sister. Maybe he even had an older sibling to talk to and argue with. Yet, he'd been raised as a single child, by a single parent. He didn't know how he felt about sharing his life with a large family...

He'd always pondered so much over the details of his parents life. He'd dreamed of meeting them, of seeing thier faces, feeling thier embrace, hearing thier voices...

The last one was a lost cause, of course. After..everything...happened, the first time he'd actually broken down, when it finally hit him, was knowing he'd never hear his mother's voice. Maybe she sang. She would probably be upset, if her youngest child couldn't hear her gift...

Because Chris had never given up hope that she was out there, thinking about him, trying to find him. He'd learned enough about magic and demons over the years to know that it was very possible to block one person from another. Potions, spells, curses...

But he was getting closer, he could feel it...

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Chris worked quietly at the kitchen counter, dicing potatoes. He loved to cook, and was pretty damn good at it too. He was the only guy to take Home Ec, and his teacher liked to brag about how he put all the girls to shame. He enjoyed the class, you didn't have to hear to cook. Though it did give him quite a bit of trouble at school...

Chris had never been really popular. He had friends, but easily twice as many enemies. It wasn't surprising really. A small, scrawny child never got a lot of positive feedback from his peers. But you get a small scrawny kid who displays behaviors that have wrongly classified him as gay for six years? And you've got a child going through Hell.

Chris had never really got along with people, especially groups and teams. For some reason he didn't understand, he was rather introverted, ever since he could remember. He had always felt uncomfortable when forced to be with others, even people he knew really well. It got so bad around the time he started Middle School, that he'd had an anxiety attack in the middle of social studies.

But he liked the way he was, and there wouldn't be any problem with him being a bit of a loner, if it wasn't for the fact that any difference, no matter how small, is a red flag to other children.

Not only was he more introverted thne other boys in school, but he was also, and he used the term very lightly, more emotional. His grandpa had used the term "delicate" to his third-grade teacher, which at the moment, Chris had found mortifying. Until he realized that there where a lot worse ways to say "delicate" then he thought.

In Elementary, it was sissy, wimp, girl, petty names like such. But when kids got older, they learned new names, ones with more bite. Fag, gay, bastard, he-she, bitch...

It would have hurt a lot more, he believed, if he'd ever stopped to consider what they where saying. So what if he like to cook, and didn't play football, and could usually be found in the library? It didn't make him gay. It just made all the other kids morons.

Sighing, Chris tipped the cutting board, carefully spilling the pile of potatoes into the boiling water, wondering what an older sibling would have done, hearing the names Chris's peers still shot at him in the halls...

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Victor leaned against the counter seperating the kitchen from the dining room, lost in his own thoughts.

He loved watching Chris cook (and his stomach didn't complain either!) But it always, ALWAYS reminded him of Piper...

...Piper.

Chris looked SO much like his mother, it was frightening. His thick, dark hair, thin frame, thier faces had a mirror image to them. All except for his eyes. They where Leo's, without a doubt.

Even the way he acted was his mother through and through. Fast temper, sarcastic wit, stubbornness, and an independent streak that was both a blessing and a hindering curse.

He couldn't believe how tall Chris had grown to be, how fierce his determination was, when Victor could remember the first time he had ever held him.

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"_Oh, don't you Hello me, Phoebe! You know who I came to see!"_ _Victor laughed, all the while hugging his youngest tightly. "Now, where is that grandson of mine!_"

"_Piper's got him, upstairs, I think," she answered vaguely, leading Victor into the living room. And at that very moment, Piper came downstairs, holding a tiny bundle in her arms._

"_Hi Dad!" she greeted her father merrily, capturing him in an awkward one-armed hug._

"_Hello Piper, sweetie. How you doing?" he asked, trying to get a peek at the baby in her arms._

"_Oh, pretty good, I guess. Tired, though. I swear, the baby hasn't slept for more then twenty minutes at a time since we brought him home!"_

"_Yeah, but that's what babies DO, isn't it? Now, let me get a look at him!" he chuckled, his patience running out._

_Piper smirked slightly, and carefully shifted the baby in her arms, revealing his face._

_Victors heart melted. Good God, where all babies that small? Sure, he was only a month old...but he was so little! There where tufts of dark, downy hair peeking out from below a light blue cap, and he had a tiny freackle t the bridge of his nose.._

_...Just like the first Chris..._

_Victor had been heartbroken when he'd heard about what happened, after knowing all the Hell Chris had gone through in his life...but now, looking down at the infant in Pipers arms, he knew that his death wasn't in vain, he wasn't forgotten...he was right there!_

_Christopher chose that moment to wake up in a crying fit. He opened his jade yes a tiny crack and, apparently displeased about his current surrounding, loudly demanded attention. He screeched shrilly, his little face turning scarlet._

_Startled, Victor jumped back slightly, as he really wasn't used to babies!_

_Piper rolled her eyes, then closed them briefly, as though she was about to loose her temper..._

"_It's Ok, baby, you're Ok, you don't need to cry, I know you're there!" she said, bouncing Chris a little in her arms. He didn't quiet down one bit!_

"_Here, Piper. Let me take him?" Victor requested, startling himself as well as the childs' mother._

"_What do you know about babies?" she asked, even as she was handing her youngest child over to Victor._

_Victor carefully accepted the swaddled child, and gently layed him on his shouler. Pulling down the blanket, he put his hand lightly on Chris's back, rubbing in soft circles._

"_Hey, Chris, it's OK, I gotcha, you don't need to cry," Victor whispered in Chris's ear. He swayed back and forth a bit, and to everyones astonishment, Chris's wailing quieted to a fuss, then merely a hiccup as he nested against his grandpa._

"_Well, I'll be damned," Piper announced, looking at her father and child with a glint in her chocolate eyes..._

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_Victor should have seen the read flag that first day. All afternoon, Chris was passed between Victor and Leo, who showed up a couple of hours later._

"_Hey, how's my little guy?" Leo smiled down at his baby. There was a pride, a love in his eyes that Victor didn't see in Pipers...If only he'd seen it then..._

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"Grandpa?Hey, kitchen to Grandpa?"

"Wh-huh?" Victor blinked a few times, finding himself back _n the apartment kitchen._

"Damn Grandpa, I though I was hard of hearing!" Chris laughed, adding salt to the potatoes. "I asked you if you'd get the roast out of the ice box, and per-heat the oven."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Victor replied, and did as was requested. He stole one more glanc at Chris, and sighed.

If only he'd seen that day...

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It was past ten o'clock. Dinner had been ate, the dishes where washed, and Chris was getting ready for bed.

He was in his bedroom, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, which was nearly black now. It was unusually cold out, even for January, so he'd rummaged through the hall closet, pulling out a rather ragged looking quilt for his bed. He didn't care that it was worn and frayed, though.It was warm in the winter months, and that's what mattered.

Chris had long ago given up ,most of his materialistic notions. For a good part of his childhood, money wasn't exactly flowing in. He had to make do with Goodwill and the sale rack at Target, but he never really thought he looked that bad. Grandpa had atught him to be grateful that at least he HAD clothes on his back.

Pulling a sweatshirt and flannel pants out of his dresser, he finished drying his hair and got dressed. He headed over to the rack on the back of his bedroom door, to hang up his towel, though paused long enough to notice how much dust had accumulated in his Mothers photograph.

He raised one hand up, to wipe away the flecks of dust...

But something happened...

Chris suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that he was going to throw up. The entire room was spinning madly, and there was a rushing in his ears.

Then, he saw people, a lot of people. They where all blurry, in black-and-white, like an old TV set.

God, now I've gone color blind! Chris as shocked that he was able to get a coherent thought in, what with these images, flashing in rapid-fire succession in front of him.

A woman, 3 women,

A tall blonde man, his long hair curling into ringlets, a small baby on his lap.

A gaggle of girls, running around, laughing,

A man, his face craggy, smiling, his eyes shining as he watched them...

And a house. A huge, beautiful Victorian, with large, branching oaks set all around it, shielding it from the world.

He saw rain por around it, sun beaming down upon it's residents, winds beating against the trees, scraping against the siding, a rare flurry of snow...

And a baby. Small, dark haired, curled up in his crib, fast asleep...

Suddenly, Chris found himself sprawled on the floor, drenched in a cold sweat.

All those people, all those scenes, what the fuck...?

All those pictures, it seemed like he was there, with them, for years just watching them, but it had been less then thirty seconds!

That woman...

That baby...

Mom.

Chris reached up to brush his sweat soaked bang out of his eyes. Less than a second, he'd seen her face for less than a second, but he knew, he felt it in the pit of his stomach...that was her...

That house, the sprawling Victorian...she lived there...

Chris took several deep, steady breathes. The woman..the house...

Home.

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AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! leo! I watched tonoght for the first time in weeks, and LEO! Excuse me, I'm in mourning...

You know what would make me feel better? You know, besides Chris and Leo coming back to whack Billie with lead bats...?

Reviews!


	4. Chapter 4

OK, it's 8:21, I'm done with my Geometry homework, forgot my Forensics rough draft in my locker, and so...I'M GONNA UPDATE!

and the crowd goes wild! Or, they would, if they didn't all just faint from shock...

ANYway, I actually had to go back an re-read my last chapter to remember what happened! Now THAT'S bad!

ANYway, thank you SO much for the reviews, they really make my day!

A/N. OK, gonna get a little personal here. A lot of the things Chris is going to be revealing about his feelings are very personal. My Mom had seven children, four husbands, and was (is) a drug addicted alcoholic with mental problems. She lives only ten miles away, but I never see her. I live a resonably happy life with my Dad and grandma, though I won't lie, I would kill to have a mother like the 'real' Piper is. She doesn't want me, I got over that a long time ago, but like I said, a lot of the things Chris feels here are things I felt. Feel.

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Chris hardly slept at all that night. He lie awake in the dark, pondering, mulling over the premonition he'd had.

Yeah, he knew what it was. After all, he WAS a with, he practiced both Magic and Wicca, knew that a Witch could acquire new powers throughout her (or in his case, his,) life. He just...didn't expect to receive visions!

'Maybe Mom had premonitions,' he thought, smiling at the thought. He had three powers, not including seeing the future: he could move things with just a flick of the wrist, make things explode (Grandpa REALLY didn't like that one!) And instantly be anywhere in the blink of an eye, 'Orbing', as his old Whitelighter had called it. He wasn't a fan of that one. Handy, yes, though he always tended to be rather ill after orbing anywhere.

With four powers, it was likely that I got at least ONE from Mom! He reasoned. The thought that his mother had passed something like that to him made him fell nice, as though a part of her was still there with him!

Having only been a year old when Piper left him with Victor, Chris had no memories of her. Chris loved his Grandpa more than he loved anyone on Earth, and he let him know that. It was just...

He wanted to know what it felt like to come home from school, and have your Mother waiting there with a hug, dinner, and a cheery "How was your day?" Wanted to know how it felt to be nine years old with the flu, and have Mom stay home all day, taking care of you, holding you on her lap, wanting to make you feel better. Wondered what it was like to make a third-grade-class Mothers Day card for your mother, and not you great Aunt Lily in Minnesota, who you've never even met. How did it feel to see the looks on your mothers face when she bravely tried your first home-ec project, and, good or not, beamed proudly and told you they where excellent.

What was it like to spend Fathers Day with your father? To be able to play one-on-one with Dad? To be four, and wrestle on the floor with him?

Victor had always been there for Chris, and he always would be. He took care of Chris when he was sick, proudly displayed the mis happen clay cat he'd made in fourth grade, was there when he got home, but...

As much as Chris loved his grandpa, and as much as Chris thought of him as his Dad...

...he wasn't Chris's father,

He wasn't Mom.

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When he was twelve, Victor had told him the whole story. How his mother and aunts (he had Aunts! which probably meant Uncles. And cousins too!) Had left Chris with them for a week, and they hadn't come back. He challenged Grandpas assumptions, going into a months-long rant about how Magic could erase memories, block people from finding one another, could make it impossible to follow a map to their new home. Grasping at straws to find a rational reason for leaving him.

And it broke Victors heart.

He couldn't bring himself to burst Chris's bubble. How do you tell a twelve year old boy that his mother doesn't want him? You don't. You let him believe his own story, if that's what makes him happy.

And that had always been a big deal for Victor. If he could have helped it, Chris would never had been denied anything he wanted. Even when money was tight, he tyrned down overtime hours on weekends, so he could spend time with Chris. He never wanted Chris to be displeased with his upbringing, to start wondering how much better he'd have it if his parents were around.

Chris wondered constantly how it would be to live with his parents, though he never thouight he'd be HAPPIER, per say. Just maybe...fulfilled. Like there would suddenly be a gap filled, where he never knew one existed, like a missing puzzle piece.

And he'd found the piece.

That house, the sprawling Victorian...he could see it clear as day, as though he'd spent his entire life there, instead of a second and a half.

If he could find that house, he knew, just KNEW, he'd find his family.

And with that thought drifting in his mind, Chris finally fell asleep.

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Yet Victor lay awake ling into the night. He knew nothing of Chris's vision of course, but he'd spent countless nights awake, worrying about Chris like any normal parent. He wanted Chris to be happy and healthy, and while they might be simple wants, they seemed to be impossible in Victors eyes.

He turned over on his bed, and looked at the photos sitting on his night stand, all of Chris. Chris was his pride and joy, always had been. He loved showing him off to his coworkers, bragging about him...

The oldest picture sat in a chipped black frame. It was a snapshot of Chris when he almost two. Victor had taken a whole role of film that week; Chris had just learned to walk. Victor had worried himself sick for months, since he seemed to be past the 'normal' age for learning. But Chris was stubborn, and apparently just preferd to be carried everywhere. But after he finally puilled himself up to the coffee table on one (surprising the living Hell out of Victor) he was immediately into _everything_. For months after, it was "Chris, don't touch that!" And "no, Chris! Come here!", with Victor always trailing behind his trouble making grandson.

But Chris had learned a very valuable skill at that age; how to weasel his way out of trouble. All he had to do when Grandpa was scolding him was look up at him with his crystal green eyes, offer up a sheepish grin, and Victor would just smile, shake his head and go, 'Those eyes are gonna get me in trouble one day, kid."

Grinning, he turned his attention to the next photo.

This one featured Christopher at the age of eight, though he was so runty, he looked about six. It was one Chris begged Victor to throw in the dumpster. He was bare of clothes but for his underwear, but was covered in a blanket of flour. And chocolate syrup. It had been Victors birthday, and Chris wanted to surprise him with a cake. But all that Chris new went into cake was flour, eggs, and chocolate. So he grabbed a cereal bowl, poured a bottled of Hershey straight in. The flour, however, was kept in a cabinet above the counter. So Chris, being crafty, grabbed his bowl by the brim, climbed up on the counter, and pried the lid of the tupperware that held the flour. He grabbed a handful, plopped it in his bowl, reached for another one...

And ended up knocking the entire canister down right on his head. Shell-shocked, he fell off the counter, his bowl soaring out of his hands, and landed with a "flump' on the kitchen carpet.

He wasn't hurt, just surprised. And when Victor came running into the kitchen, to see what was going on, he looked a real sight.

Victor had taken on look at the boy, and ran off laughing to find the camera. And run a bath.

The last picture was Victors favorite. Taken only a year ago, at a Forensics tournament. Chris had taken second, qualifying for a spot at State, and taking his highest placement of the year. And he looked ecstatic. He beamed proudly, grinning ear-to-ear as he displayed his medal. They gave out crappy medas at that town' about the size of a silver dollar, no pin on the back, but Chris didn't care. Only the top six placed in a tournament, and there had been over twenty in Chris's event.

Victor hadn't seen him smile like that in three god damned years.

He had scores of pictures tucked away in boxes and ziploc bags. He'd taken snapshots at every event. Every first day of school, every tournament, every lost tooth...

His mind more at ease now, Victor reached over, turned off the lamp, and went to sleep.

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Chris could hear in his sleep. Well, his dream mind could. And right now, he heard a voice, a womans voice. It chilled him, as it always did when he dreamt. Going through the day in almost silence, then hearing voices of friends and enemies in his sleep.

Chris first thought was, Mom?

The voice kept reciting something, over and over...

"1329, Prescott Street."

1395...no, 1239m no...damn it, who was that?

Chris turned around, looking for that voice...

"1329, Prescott Street," came the voice again, and suddenly, with a dizzying whirl, Chris found himself in a house, with the strongest feeling of deja vu he'd ever had. Here where stained glass windows surrounding him, with white wicker furniture...

And a woman. And a man...

He didn't know the man, but the woman was instantly recognizable as Piper Halliwell.

Older than in his picture, her hair shorter and grayer, but her, nonetheless.

Chris smiled broadly, forgetting for a moment that it as a dream. All he could think about was her voice. He heard her voice...after hearing almost nothing in four years...

She smiled sadly up at him. The man on the couch now stood up, but didn't advance. He mearly looked at the boy with a look...a look of ...longing? Sandess? Regret?

Suddenly, Piper siezed his hand roughly, and traced on his palm with her fingures as she said, once more,

"1329, Prescott street. She'll be there. She needs you."

Chris looked down at his palm, where the words his mother had been repeateing where not written on his skin in sparkling blue...ink?

"Who's 'she? Will you be there? Why will she be angry?" a million questions raced through Chris's mind, but Piper just smiled and said once more, "She needs you."

Awaking with a start, Chris sat straight up in bed, sweat pouring off of him. He strained to hear her voice, to keep it with him...but he heard nothing. Always nothing.

He shook violently, dazed. His mind was screaming at him that it was a dream, go back to sleep. But something else was saying that address, over and over in his head...

He looked down at his palm, expecting to see nothing but his hand, but there it was, in shining blue letters,

1329, Prescott Street.

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I'm not pleased with this chapter. My muse is holding a grudge, or maybe he died of old age, since I havn't written here for a while. And it's short, I know. Good news? By the end of the chapter after next, Chris and Piper will meet!


	5. Chapter 5

OK, Ok, please don't throw rotten produce at me! I've been ultra busy with art shows and Forensics tournaments that I just havn't had time! Also, I had a bit o' writers block on this story. I know where I want it to go, just not how to get it there! ANYway, here it is, just for you! And you...and you...!

Also, for those of you who are new to my writings (or just haven't figured it out yet!) I pour a lot of myself in my writting. Case and Point: My locker is a mess. I have friends named Eric, Tina and Carlos (well, Carlos is a lot more than a friend, actually... ) And as for Tobias? I just like the name! And in my school, each class period is most commonly referred to as an hour, even though the classes are 50 minutes long. Go figure!

AND, in response to a PM I got in response to a past chapter: The girl asked what an "ice box" is. It's the refrigerator. My grandma calls it an ice box (which was an early-day version of the fridge) so, since she raised me, that's what I call it.

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Chris stood at his locker, cursing under his breath. He'd lost his World History paper sometime between last hour Tuesday and twelve minutes ago...and it was the following Monday. It would probably be a Hell of a lot easier to find it if he kept his locker clean. He had a locker in the old wing of the High School, which where about half the size of the ones in the new wing (which really ticked him off, seeing as how there was a whole wing of unused lockers upstairs!) He was a bit of a packrat, and never threw anything away, even old papers, under the philosophy that as soon as he threw something out, he'd need it. As a result, his locker was all but overflowing with papers, worksheets, notebooks and text books, and thrown in haphazardly. He'd already sorted threw all the papers crammed in almost every page of his main texts books, but hadn't found his assignment. Oh man, Miss Hagman was gonna grill his ass!

Busy sifting through a hand ful of ancient Trig notes, he nearly jumped out of his skin when someone grabbed his shoulder.

"YaaaAACK!" he cried, the papers tossed up and scattering all across the almost abandoned hallway (class started four minutes ago...). He flipped around to face his 'attacker', hands poised to vanquish, and was met with the laughing face of his best friend Tobias.

"God damn, Chris, paranoid much?" he asked after his laughter had died down.

"Go to Hell Toby," Chris replied, though he smirked now at his own jumpiness. "I swear, the next time you do that, I'm orbing you to Siberia"

"Yeah right!" Toby replied kneeling to pick up a handful of crumpled papers, though being mindful not to turn his face away from Chris. "With YOUR aim, we'd end up in Madagascar!"

Toby was not only Chris's best friend, but he was also the only mortal besides his grandfather who new of Chris's heritage. It happened quite by accident at the time, though Chris was sure that he'd have told him anyway, eventually, if he hadn't found out on his won.

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Chris was just months shy of his fourteenth birthday when he met Toby, who had actually gone to school with Chris for years. They'd just never really had a reason to talk to each other. Toby was loud, wild, a free spirit, while Chris was quiet, timid, and jumpy. Opposite ends of the pole. In truth, Chris had always sorta looked up to Toby's wild child attitude. He just couldn't come out of his shell at school. The large mass of students (well, not so large, Really about 250 kids. But to someone as jumpy as a jackrabbit, it was a lot) was just intimidating.

Iromicly, the first time Toby actually spoke to Chris was after he couldn't hear what he had to say. Come to think of it, quite a few kids had done that. Chris dismissed them all as pity. Not people who really wanted to be with him, just kids who felt sorry for him, kids who now saw an opportunity to earn brownie points and look like such mature and responsible adults, helping out and befriending an 'invalid'.

Chris, however, had no interest in their role play. Instead of acting grateful of pleased at their efforts, like they expected him to, he gave 'em the cold shoulder. He turned his back, ignored them, or just stared blankly at them. And eventually, things went back to normal; they all ignored him again, which suited Chris just fine.

That is, everyone except Toby. It had seemed to Chris that no matter what he said or did, Toby always seemed to come back. So finally, one day, Chris cornered him in the boys restroom and demanded what was up. Because in truth, Chris sorta liked having him around.

"Because," Toby had replied. "I like you. Not like that!" He then defended, catching site of Chris's disgusted eyes. "Look,. I don't feel sorry for you, and I don't pity you. I just wanna talk."

And they had. They talked at Chris's house that afternoon...and watched movies at Toby's the next day. In a matter of weeks, the boys where inseparable. They where 'attached at the hip', as Victor liked to say.

But no more than six months later, Toby found out Chris's deep dark secret. He'd been lounging out in his room after dinner, reading, when Toby rang the door bell. (Chris knew this deatiail from the small light installed in every room, that flickered when the doorbell sounded) He knew Grandpa had an old friend coming over that night, so he didn't bother to get up. However, it wasn't Grandpas friend at the door, it was Toby, who moments later flung open the door to Chris's bedroom.

Now, ordinarily, this wouldn't have been a problem. But at the moment, Chris had been laying on his bed, reading a rather dull story for English, while trying to entertain himself by telekineticly twirling several objects in the air.

Needless to say, he scared the living shit out of Toby.

He let out a scream that Victor had later described as very 1920's horror click, and bolted from the room, Chris close on his tail.

Victor, however, was a smart man, and, having already guessed the scenario, had jumped up and locked the door, and stood in front of it.

Toby, reaching the door, had demanded that Victor move. But it was too late; Chris had already caught up to him, and grabbed his arm.

"Get the fuck off me, you freak!" he demanded, wrenching his arm out of Chris's grasp.

"Toby, please! Listen to me!" Chris pleaded, trying his damndest to get back into his friends line of view. "Please!"

And eventually, after several minutes of screaming and shrieking, Toby had relented, and sat down and listened to Chris's hairbrained story.

"A witch." he'd stated skeptically. "You're trying to tell me that you, Christopher Perry Halliwell-Bennett, are a witch."

"Well, half witch, half Angel, but yeah, witch is my dominant half" he said with the air of someone saying they where half Russian, half Scottish.

"You're insane!" He accused, his voice raising. "Mr. Bennett, I'm sorry, but I think Chris needs to be admitted to St. Andrews!"

"No, Toby, It's true..."

"Prove it!" he demanded. "Do that thing you did earlier, that Matilda thing."

And Chris, rising to the challenge, decided to show off a little. With just quick flocks of his hand, he switched on the TV, and flickered the lights. Twirling his wrist slowly, he raised all the couch cushions into the air, spinning like a whirlwind. The curtains rattled, the coffee table scooted over the carpet, and in a swirl of white light, Chris just disapeared.

A moment later, he reappeared right behind Toby.

"Believe me now?" he asked, and laughed heartily as Toby screamed for the 386 time that afternoon.

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"Bite me, Toby!" Chris laughed, scooping up the last of his papers. "Now come on, I'm late for history.

"And this is news because..." prompted Toby, earning himself a slap on the back of the head.

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Due to his handicap, Chris sat front row center in all his classes (save art, in which there wheren't rows) to better see the teacher.

Now, he liked history. 99 percent of his classmates couldn't stand it, but Chris found it interesting. He also didn't mind the teacher, Miss Hagman, a woman in her late twenties with light blonde hair and green eyes. She was nice enough, but she loved to dole out the busy work.

But today, Chris wasn't interested in the Industrial Revolution of Great Britain. He was much more interested at starring at the map of California in the back if his book. He easily found San Francisco, up in the Northern half.

He smiled to himself, a warm, gooey feeling in his middle. It had been a week since his dream, and he 'd written the words '1329 Prescott Street over and over in his notebook, the way a sappy teen girl might write 'Keith Urban' or 'Johnny Depp'.

It was so hard for him to believe how close he was to finally being with his mother, father, family...After years of searching, it was finally time.

He was finally going to meet his mother...

Tonight.

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"Toby!" Chris called out across the crowded hallway. The last bell had just rang, and he was just itching to tell Toby his plan. He hadn't had time that morning.

Toby knew about Chris's family situation (duh) and Chris's need to find his mother, though he wasn't sure if he wholeheartedly agreed. He, like most people, assumed that Chris had been abandoned. But having heard so many sides and possibilities of magic, he guessed it was possible that some spell of cloak was keep Piper Halliwell from her child. And even though he had his doubts, he never told them to Chris. He backed his friend up wholeheartedly.

"Hey Halliwell." He greeted Chris, falling into step with him. "What's happenin'?"

Instead of giving a straight answer, Chris handed Toby a piece of paper with an address scribbled on it.

"What's this?" he asked, looking up at Chris.

"It's an address, idiot. What'd you THINK it was?" Chris chuckled. They stopped walking and sat down on the low, zig zag wall leading up on one side of the outdoor walk way. It was too difficult for Chris to walk and watch Toby at the same time.

"I know that dumbass. I meant, whose?" Toby handed the paper back to Chris, who folded it back up and stuck it in his back pocket. A smile slowly spread across his face, and his jade eyes shone.

"Mom's" He answered simply, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What?" Toby asked, disbelieving.

Chris's smile broadened at the thought.

"Toby, it's my Mom's address! It's hers!" he spoke as though even he hardly believed what was going on.

Toby, however, remained skeptical. "How do you know it's hers?"

"Because," Chris began,"I had a dream a few nights ago. She was in it. She took my hand, and kept reciting that address over and over and she..."

"Wait a second!" Toby cut him off, holding up his hand. "Let me get this straight. You're basing all this joy and hope on numbers and words you thought up in a dream?" he demanded, disbelieving. He loved Chris to death, but he still believed he was completely mental at times!

"But it wasn't just a dream. Toby!" Chris insisted. He was getting emotional now, and his words where slurring. " I mean, come on! I've been to Heaven and Hell and everywhere in between! I've been visited by wood nymphs and trolls. I move things with my mind! What makes you think this is so much of a stretch?"

Toby paused. He had a good point. Things often didn't make sense with Chris. But still...

"Don't you know what this means Toby?" Chris continued, grabbing the paper from his pocket again, and shaking it in front of his friend. When he made no reply, Chris sighed happily, another smile forming onto his features.

"I've found her Toby. It means I've found her!" He was now grinning like a little boy in a toy store...

And Toby, though he knew Chris had lost it, knew it was a worthless cause and would ultimately shatter Chris's heart, couldn't bring himself to be the one to cause Chris that pain. So he just smiled back at Chris and said, "I'm so happy for you Chris..."

If only he knew...

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Chris had spent the previous evening at the library, printing off a half dozen maps of the San Francisco area, knowing that each one could differ slightly. Now, his orbing, as Toby loved to bring up, wasn't really all that great, but it was good enough to get him into residential San Fran. From there, the maps would help him find Prescott street.

Being Monday, he had a Forensics practice after school, so his Grandpa was already at home when he arrived.

"And why're you in such a good mood?" inquired Victor, looking up from his paper as Chris walked through the door to their apartment. He was sitting in the living room with the Times and a bagel.

"Ah, it's nothin'" Chris insisted, still smirking while swinging off his coat and slung it over a chair, then heading to his room to put up his books.

Slinging his bag onto his bed, he tossed his English and A/P book on his desk. He then rumaged through his closet for a clean t-shirt (he only wore his nice clothes to school and Church), changed, and headed back through the living room and into the small kitchen.

He started pulling out a pan from the cupboard, when Victor poked his head around the wall, catching Chris's eye.

"It's a girl, isn't it?" he prompted with a teasing look in his eye.

"What?" Chris didn't quite catch in.

"It's a girl, huh? The reason you're grinning ear to ear!"

Chris blushed a lovely shade of magenta, and bit his lip, holding back a chuckle.

"Maaaaybe..." he offered offhandedly, pretending to be uninterested in the conversation.

" 'maybe'. Hmm..." continued Victor, rather enjoying this game. "And, uh, what would ths girls name be?"

"Um...why do you wanna know?" Chris feigned innocence. Badly.

"Because," Victor stated. "I wanna know who his little lady friend of yours is. I'm not having some trampy slut going out with my little boy!" Victor, naturally, was quite overprotective of Chris. He had never been a grandchild to him; always his son.

"Oh Grandpa!" Chris groaned, digging through the ice box.

"I mean it!" he continued, lounging against the counter. "You're too good for that kind of trashy who..."

"Grandpa!" Chris cut him off, shocked. "You don't need to worry. She's a nice girl, trust me.". He paused a moment, cautious of his words, before adding, "Besides. She doesn't even know I'm alive."

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It was almost six o'clock, and Chris was antsy, just itching to leave. He had waited 16 years for this, and it seemed so strange to think that it barely an hour, he would finally meet his own mother...

The last few days, he had thought of nothing else. It occupied his every waking moment, thought. Over and over again, he imagined her reaction when she saw him. He had so many scenarios envisioned; one where she opened the door, expecting to find a sales man or charity, and instead finds her son, whom she instantly recognizes. He saw her rushing forward, flinging her arms around him, sobbing, telling him how happy she was to have him back. One where she was ignorant at first, and he gently explains it to her. Piper, upon discovering that the somewhat shy young man before her is really her baby, has much the same reaction as she did in his first fantasy...

He chose to wait until Monday for one reason; Victor went out with his old friend on Mondays. They'd go play cards, have a few drinks...he's be gone till late.

Cause Chris really didn't know how to explain this to his Grandpa. He wouldn't hide it forever, of course...just at first.

His door opened about that time, and Victor stuck his head through.

"Hey, Chris, I'm getting ready to leave. You got everything handled?" Even at age 17, Victor was reluctant to leave Chris on his own.

"Yeah, Grandpa, I'm fine!" He assured his grandpa, eager to be on his way.

"Alright, then, I'll see you later. 'Night!"

"Night", he replied, and Victor left.

And about 4.9 seconds later, Chris was on his way to California.

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Having grown up in rural Colorado, in a town of barely 2,000 people, Chris was a bit overwhelmed by the bustle and shear enormity of San Francisco. There was traffic everywhere, people milling all around. It was so loud that Chris could actually hear the hustle all around him. And, frankly, it unsettled him.

He walked down the street till he came across a little outdoor café, and sat down to consult his maps. According to the street signs, and cross references to his many maps, he was only about 2 miles away from Prescott Street! What luck!

Shuffling his papers together, he stood and tried his darndest to wave down a taxi; it may have only been two miles...but Chris really didn't like the thought of walking all the way there.

He wasn't really having a lot of luck though/ Translation; he was screwed. On TV, when someone needed a taxi, they whistled and waved their hand in the air, which Chris tried. And the Taxi's just drove on by. So he started walking up and down the sidewalk, trying to get the attention of the driver. Beginning to get frustrated, he had no idea that he was being watched.

A tall, muscular man with long blonde curls sat at the café, highly amused by the young boys antics. 'Definitely from the Boondocks,' Wyatt deducted. This kid was undeniably corn-fed. And although Wyatt was enjoying the entertainment, he decided to go take pity on the poor runt.

He walked til he was about 15 feet away before calling out, "Hey, kid, you need help?" But the kid just seemed to ignore him; he just kept going.

So Wyatt got a little closer. "Hey, you there, waving, do you need some help?" And again, the young man appeared to not hear him. And Wyatt was beginning to feel a bit perturbed.

"Man, what's with you?" he complained walking right up behind the guy and laying a hand on his shoulder.

Quick as lightning, the boy whirled around, his eyes wide and fearful. And Wyatt suddenly had the oddest feeling of deja vu...

He was tall, probably about 16, 17, with long, dark hair and green eyes. He was thin as a pole, with pale skin and delicate features.

"Can I help you?" the boy asked a moment later, after regaining his composure. This guy...he looked oddly familiar...

"Actually," he replied, smirking, "I was going to ask you the same thing. Not from around here, are you?"

Chris shook his head. "No, I'm actually from Colorado, way out rural," he explained.

'Bingo,' Wyatt thought, trying not to laugh...which was surprisingly easy. This kid didn't seem as much a redneck as he thought.

"What about you?" Chris continued. "You live around here?"

"Yeah, actually, raised here. I'm a junior at the university, though, and I really hope to get a nice job on the East Coast. I mean, it's nice, but I wanna see what else is out there" God, why am I spilling my guts to a complete stranger? Wyatt questioned himself. But talking to this guy just seemed so...natural...as though they's known each other their whole lives.

"Same here. Not much opportunity back home. I'm almost done with High School, and I'm hoping to land a place at KU."

"KU?" Wyatt chuckled, amused. "Thought you wanted to get away from the small town!"

Chris shrugged, laughing. "Yeah, well, Lawrence ain't all that small, and besides, it's a great school, not too far from home..." he trailed off, feeling somewhat foolish.

'Guy's pretty OK,' Wyatt thought to himself, noticing the young man's self confidence, a trait he admired. 'Whoever he is...'

Then, as though sensing Wyatt's curiosity, Chris extended his hand to the still-sorta-stranger.

"I'm Chris," he introduced himself. "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Wyatt replied, reaching to return the gesture. But the moment they clasped hand, a shock went through both of them, like a jolt of electricity.

"Yow! What the Hell?" they each cursed at the same time, then burst out laughing.

"I'm Wyatt," he continued, after his laughter died down. "So, you tryin' to call a taxi?"

"Yeah, and I think all I did was entertain the pedestrians," Chris admitted, giving Wyatt a kind of lopsided 'what can ya do?' smile.

"Lemme help ya out there," Wyatt offered, and in a matter of mseconds, managed to flag down a taxi.

"Um, wow. Thanks, Wyatt," Chris said gratefully, pausing after he finished. That name...He knew no one named Wyatt, yet the name just seemed to flow off his tongue so easily.

"No problem, Chris. You staying in SF long?"

Chris stopped, the door half open, as he pondered that question.

"I..I don't know. Maybe. I Hope so..." he mused.

"Maybe I'll se ya 'round sometime...IF the trolley doesn't hit you first!" Wyatt couldn't resist teasing.

"Ah, Bite me!" Chris chuckled good-naturdely, before thanking Wyatt once more and climbing into the back seat.

Wyatt watched the car drive off, and stood there several minutes after, trying his hardest to remember, where he had seem that young man before...

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It was only a few minutes before the cab pulled up in front of a large, beautiful Victorian, painted a brilliant shade of magenta. The trees in the front where bare, being January, but Chris could easily imagine them being laden with delicate white flowers, with petunias planted by the door. A score or more stone steps led up to that door; mahogany, adorned with stained glass panels and ornate lights on the side. A bay window gave the house a majestic feeling, with white lace curtains billowing from the open glass.

And suddenly, Chris felt the first hint of apprehension. It was just TOO hard to grasp; she was in there, right now. Maybe cousins too, or siblings...

But out of the blue, waves and oceans of fears just seemed to weigh heavy on Chris's mind...

_They don't need you, They have a family...she abandoned you!...They got along fine without you...What if they don't remember me? What if she doesn't want me_?

Chris shook his head; where were these thoughts coming from? Jeez, sixteen years, and NOW I'm having second thoughts?

Because that's just what he was thinking. Orb back! Hide! It's not too late to just go back and forget all about it!

And yet, through all the fears, the doubts, his hope shone through like a lighthouse beacon through the ocean fog. Of COURSE she wanted him; she needed him, said so herself! She's been searching for me...

Of Course she wants me, I'm her son...

Her's...

"Hey, kid, you going to pay now,or do you want the meter to run a little longer?" the drover broke through his anxieties, quite rudely in facts.

Chris pressed a few folded bills into his hand accepted the change, and he sped off, leaving Chris alone on the sidewalk.

Twenty steps and a slap of mahogany; that's all that kept him away from the family he'd always longed for. They-she-was so close, but his legs felt like pudding. He just couldn't seem to get them to work. He was there-right there!- after so many years of dreams, and searching, and hope...

And he couldn't find the courage to walk twenty lousy steps!

And then he remembered her voice...she said she needed him...he HEARD her say it! In his dream...but what if it really WAS a dream...what if this house didn't belong to the Halliwells at all, but a bunch of strangers...NO! Nonono! He dreamt of what the house looked like, dreamt the color, the trees, everything...he was right, he knew he was!

And before he knew it, he was making his way up the steps, agonizingly slowly, his heart beating like mad, his breath quivery, his palms damp his fear, excitement, joy, nerves and everything in between.

10 more steps...

8...

5...

I can't do this! His mind suddenly shriked, while his hearts screamed, Just GO you moron!

And his heart won.

4 steps...

2...

And the door...

And he stood there. All he had to do was ring that doorbell, and wait. Just ring it...But his arms, like his legs, didn't want to cooperate.

'Just do it Chris! She's inside, waiting for you. She misses you, she loves you...'

He took a big, shaky breath, and pressed his finger against the ivory button, set in ornate bronze scrolling.

And he waited.

And waited.

'She's not home', he panicked. 'You came all this way and she's not home!'

'Or maybe the doorbell's broke, I wouldn't know...'

'Or maybe she's not home!'

The door opened, and suddenly, her hair pulled back loosely, her chocolate eyes shining, a warm, curious smile on her face, standing before him, after sixteen long, painful years, was Piper Halliwell.

"Hello? Can I help you?" she asked, and Chris imagined her voice to be soft, inquisitive, but inviting. After he didn't answer, she cocked her head, her beautiful eyes now expressing concern.

"Are you OK? What can I do for you?"

Chris, who now felt as though every dram of blood was rushing to his face, whose hands where shaking, who felt like his lungs had packed up and moved out of his chest, whose heart was beating in his throat who knew his voice was trembling, stammered,

"I...um...I'm uh...uh...P-Piper Halliwell?"

"Yes," Piper replied pleasantly, though now slightly confused, "Who are you?"

And that seemed to snap Chris out of his near panic attack. He took a deep, calmng breath and, calling on every ounce of courage he had, replied.

"Piper, it-it's...me. Chris." He smiled broadly now, the full extent of the situation hitting home. She was here, with him...with him... "It's me Mom. It's Chris"

And of all the situations and scenarios Chris had played out in his head in 16 years, of all the possible outcomes, he hadn't really expected this one.

Piper eyes went round as coins, huge and bulging. All the color went out of her face, and her body started to shake. No...No way...Not in Hell...never...NO!

"Oh My God." was all she said, and Chris smiled slightely, nervously, shyly; he took her reaction as disbelief, instead of shock. Because, being as he was, he couldn't hear her voice. He didn't hear those three word injected with disgust, rage...

Hate.

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ok, I am actually quite happy with this chapter! Actually, I had not planned on adding Wyatt in this chapter untul about two paragraphs before his appearance. I hope you like it, and please, please drop me review!


	6. Chapter 6

S-ss-sixty. Sixty. Oh my freaking God, SIXTY reviews? 60! Oh, Love you all so much, all SIXTY of you! I know it's been so long since I updated, but I hope that you find this chapter to your liking. Also, this chapter starts off with Leo's emotions, and explains why no one else in the family ever went to go look for Chris.

A/N for any overseas readers who might not be familiar with U.S. school systems, Chris is in Junior year. Next year, he'd be a senior, then he'd graduate.

Also, I've got a couple reviews about my language. Yes, I know, it's not very lady like, and NO I don't swear, but high school/college boys do, so, you are warned.

A/N. I just recieved one more review. Sixty ONE! Lol :)

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A shoe box, less than half filled with photos, was all that Leo Wyatt had left of his baby. His son. Snap shots, Polaroids, and a couple professional frames. Twenty-odd years of life, memories, and death, all tucked away with the greatest care, hidden under a floor board in the attic

They had to be hidden, or Piper would burn them.

That's what she'd done sixteen years ago, after...

It was the grief that had done it. She'd lost Chris, not once, oh no, not once, but twice. Both within one year. She had barely been able to pull together the shattered fragments her heart had splintered into, when the pieces broke apart once more, maybe beyond all repair. She hadn't been able to deal, it seemed. After all, why else would Phoebe come home to find Piper ripping apart every photo of her son she could find, tossing the shredded paper into the blazing hearth?

But her sisters and Leo had stopped her, and the boys mourning father had managed to save a few scraps, momentos.

A stranger peering over Leo's shoulder would likely assume that the subjects of the photos where two different people altogether, given the 23 year age difference of the boys, yet the two-year gap of the orange dates inking the bottom corners.

Despite the pain it caused him to look at his sons face after all these years, Leo's most calm, peaceful moments where spent looking through the box. He could list off exactly what the cardboard box held, every picture. He had his favorites memorized down to the shadows of the furniture and the folds of clothing and carpet.

With conflicting emotions evident on his face, Leo sifted through the glossy prints, and extracted one. Chris was older in this one, his hair tousled and unkempt, as though he'd just woken up. It would have been around May or June here, seeing as how the trees outside where lush with foliage, and Leo hadn't been present; Phoebe had taken this one; to Leo's great pleasure, she had gone rather camera-happy around this time, snapping random shots of nothing.

Chris had been smiling in this one. Leo had rarely seen the boy smile.

Setting that one aside, he reached for another pearched atop the pile. His smile widened, and he had to keep himself from laughing aloud. This was one of his favorites. Halloween. Piper, Leo and the girls, just as they had the year before, where taking Wyatt around trick-or-treating, and, UNlike last year, they had dragged Chris along with them. Piper had also wrestled a 'costume' onto him; a string of gold wire, bespeckled with foil stars, looped around the crown of his head like a halo. He was trying with everything he had to look surly and annoyed at the family holiday thing, but looking closely, one could see the corners of his mouth turn up slightely. Leo remembered that one; he'd been back for a couple months, and Chris had just started to trust him again. Just days before, he'd called him Dad.

And just a month later, he had died.

And again, a year later...

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A demon had taken him in broad daylight, just after his birthday. Piper and the girls had been the only ones home with him, Leo having taken Wyatt out for the afternoon. Hours later, he'd come home to Piper's frantic screams. Orbing in, he found his wife flipping through the Book with a ferocity he hadn't seen in years. Tears streamed down her blotchy face, as she held back sobs. Paige and Phoebe were perched on the couch, each looking...dazed, a little out of it. Not getting a straight answer out of his wife, he inquired the girls about the situation.

"I-I don't really know," Phoebe had said, blinking profusely. "It-it's all sort of a blur..." Paige nodded in agreement.

For months, they hunted the demon who had stole their baby, but all leads where false, and with each demon they vanquished, it seemed as though their hope was dwindling.

But Piper knew.

Piper pretended to be devastated by her childs disappearance. Pretended to be shattered when they had to accept the fact that he was...

But contrary to her costume piteous grieving she wore on her body, inside, she as relishing the new-found calm she had, knowing that HE was out of the house, away from her family. She secretly and silently congratulated herself on her cloaking spells, and the rather tricky memory spell she'd put on her sisters.

She'd wept at the memorial service they'd held for Chris, left flowers by the plate bearing his name. There was no body behind the carved metal, of course; there was no body to find. But she'd mostly been disgusted by hr family's grieving. If only they knew what she did...

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He would have just turned seventeen, Leo realized, rather melancholy. And eighteen this November...

Pictures weren't the only thing held in the box; there where also small mementoes, knickknacks. A handwritten spell, a men's necklace, made of wooden bead and metal disk, and a diamond engagement ring. A rattle in the shape of a hippo, hospital bracelt from his birth...

Tears stung his green eyes, threatening to spill onto his craggy face. Running a hand through his graying hair, he tucked the photo's back into their keeping place, carefully placed the lid back, and wrestled open the floorboard, nestling the box back into the hollow.

Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Leo decided he needed a quiet place to think. The Bridge in mind, he orbed out...

And never heard the knock on the front door.

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"Oh my God..."

Those were the only three words Piper could articulate at the moment. She was used to "expecting the unexpected" after twenty years of demon–hunting. But this? This wasn't unexpected...it was impossible!

When she'd opened the door, she'd felt a sense of...deja vu. He'd looked familiar...but she just couldn't put her finger on it...

Chris.

That son of a bitch.

That bastard!

What nerve did he have, barging in here after sixteen years? Didn't the boy have any sense? Mom leaves you at Grandpas; mom doesn't want you!

But Piper was nothing if not a great actress. It made sense, actually. Spells, magic, it weakened over the years. She'd have to recast a few, tweak a couple others, then send him on his way, and he'd never be the wiser.

Taking a deep breath, Piper forced a smile on her face, hoping it looked pleasantly surprised, and welcoming.

"Chris? Well, this is a...a...a shock!" she tried to make her voice sound warm and loving. And it made her stomach churn, being so sugary-sweet to such a lying scoundrel.

Said "scoundrel" was suddenly overtaken by a bout of shyness; his cheeks blushed crimson, and he shuffled his feet. Yet, Piper noticed that he never broke eye contact.

'Thinks' he can fool me with that innocent crap!' Piper sneered to herself.

"I, um...I, well, I...uh..." Chris stuttered, his tongue feeling thick and heavy. It was like his brain was having an argument with his mouth and refused to speak to it.

But he didn't have to. Piper stepped aside, pulling the door open wide.

"Come in, please!" she offered, yet scolded herself; her voice was too sugary; he'll see right through you!

He didn't seem to notice though, and Piper chalked it up to nerves. Or maybe he's just to naive and dim to know any better.

"Th-thank you," he replied, stepping cautiously through the threshold, as though he expected to be thrown out the way he came at any moment.

Piper latched the door behind her, and turned back to the boy. He stood there, looking lost, like a little orphan (oh the irony! Piper thought) yet he still kept a solid, steady gave on her. It was rather unnerving, those green orbs following her.

Still smiling, Piper went up to him and, acting more like a great aunt than a mother, held him at arms length and said breathily, "Look at you! I can't believe it's really you!"

"I can't believe it's you!" he countered, seeming to relax more. "I can't really believe any of this."

"What are...I mean, how did you get here? How did you find us?" try as she mihgt, she just couldn't keep the edge out of her voice. She needed to know, if she was ever going to get him sent back to where ever it was he crawled from.

Chris just smiled even wider, looking for all the world as though he had never been happier. "I've been looking for you for as long as I could remember. You have no idea how much..."

"How did you know where we were?" Piper asked again, her impatient tone masked by her pleasant face.

Chris blinked a few times, shaken by being cut off. "Well, see...I sorta had a dream...

"A dream," Piper mimicked, disbelieving.

The young witch nodded, his unruly hair falling into his face. Sweeping it aside, he continued, "yeah. I had a dream. You where...here, actually, and you gave me the address..." he trailed off, looking rather uncomfortable under Piper's scrutinizing gaze.

"What made you think that it could have been true...honey." Piper forced herself to utter the pet name, to keep up pretenses. But it left a foul taste on her palate.

"Well, I, uh...I thought it might have been a premonition, or a-a spell of some sort or..." he shrugged, not knowing what else to do. This was really not what he had been expecting at all/ Tearful greetings, screaming, sobbing...not the third degree!

Or his mothers eyes going into a perfect circle. "You-you know about spells and, and magic?" she inquired, disbelieving. How in the Hell?

"Yeah, I always have. I always knew I was a witch."

"And you have powers?" she ventured as a statement, not a question.

Chris held his head up a bit more, proudly. "Mm-hmm. Four, actually. Orbing, telekinesis," he ticked them off on his fingers, "I can blow things up, and have premonitions...I think..." he stopped then, and looked up and Piper, and expectant look on his face, that reminded her of a small child, proudly displaying a drawing, and hoping for approval.

It made her sick.

But she didn't let it show. She just kept up her smile (her face was beginning to hurt)

There was a rather awkward silence for a moment, and Piper jumped at the opportunity.

"Oh my goodness, hoe rude of me, just making you stand here all night! Um, would you like some tea, or coffee...?" she offered her son.

He smiled and nodded, "tea would be great." he accepted.

Piper led him out of the foyer, through the dining room, and into the kitchen. Chris, his eyes never stopping, soaked in every detail of the Victorian manor. It was exquisite; the antique furniture, the wood carving adorning the doorways and stairwell, the thick, oriental rugs woven into complex patterns; The walls were painted a dusty rose and cheery yellow. The several large windows dotting the walls were speckled with panes of colored glass, as he had seen from outside, but from Inside, with the early evening sunlight streaming through them, dying small patches of lush carpeting green, red, blue, it looked so much classier. He felt a twinge of regret at it's beauty, of not having been allowed to grow up in such a house...

And the kitchen! He would love to be set loose in here. Every cabinet was bursting with spices, seasonings, herbs. Piper apparently made some sort of living from cooking, as she had two ovens custom-built into the wall. Sets of high-priced pots and pans hung professionally from the ceiling...Chris smiled once more; apparently, he HAD inherited something from his mother!

"Have a seat, please!" Piper instructed, sounding merry as she could. Yet Chris ignored her. Little disrespectful brat. He just continued to stand there, taking in his new surroundings.

"Chris!" she barked loudly, to get his attention. Startled, the young man snapped around to stare.

"Yes?" he asked oh-so-innocently.

"You can sit down," Piper repeated, a bit exasperated.

"Oh, um...thank you," Chris took a seat at the kitchen island, watching with rapt attention as Piper pulled an old-fashioned kettle out from below the counter, and filled it half-way with warm water. Turning back to him, she asked, "Honey, or lemon?"

"Um, lemon, please," Chris requested politely. Piper turned her back to hi m and scoffed. Look at him! Acting like a perfect little gentleman. Sniveling brat...

Trying to appear to be the normal, curious mother he expected her to be, she tried her hand at small talk.

"So, Chris. You'd be, what, a junior this year?" But he didn't respond.

'This game is getting old, fast!' Piper sighed bitterly. She turned around to see what was SO interesting that he would completely ignore her, to find him sitting still, hands folded calmly in his lap, looking straight at her.

God damn Leo for giving him those eyes! She cursed, a bit...disconcerted by his large, jade eyes. They were just freaking creepy, really.

"Are you alright Chris?" she asked, a bit exasperated. Perking up sudddenly, he smiled shyly, blushed a lovely shade of magenta and nodded.

Giving up on the small talk, Piper turned back around, attending to the kettle.

There's something not right about that boy...

Trying to ignore the fact that she could almost FEEL the crossbreeds eyes following her around her kitchen, Piper started rummaging through cupboards. Well, not actually Rummaging, per say, since Piper Halliwell's kitchen was immaculate, organized better than a NASA flight. She padded about the tiled floor, extracting nutmeg, camomile, ginger and lemons, all of which were tasty additions to a cup of tea, and mandrake, sloth skin and cotton wood bark, which...weren't.

But they made for a hell of a sleeping drought.

It was a laughably simple plan, really, knock him out, "rearrange" his memory a bit, and send his ass back to where ever it was he darkened doorways. He would never be the wiser.

Her tea kettle began to whistle, white steam spewing from the copper spout. Careful of the boiling liquid, Piper carefully poured two cups full of the scorching tea; one for herlsef, one for Chris.

"Here you go, Chris. It's my own recipe; I hope you like it!"

Sure that he would indeed enjoy it, he raised the fine white china to his lips, blew on it, rippling the brown drink, and sipped. It had a bit of a bite (too much lemon, he'd guess) but was rich, full of flavors even he couldn't quite put names too. Grinning, he thanked his mother, assuring her it was great.

"I'm glad!" piper replied, returning his expression. "Now drink up; it'll taste terrible once it's cold."

Chris didn't reply, but took another, slightly larger, sip. Putting his cup down for a moment, he stifled a yawn behind his hand, suddenly feeling somewhat drowsy...

'Must be decaf.'

"So, Chris. How have you been doing? I know it's a ridiculous question, after sixteen years, but..."

Chris yawned again, not being able to hide it this time, but shook his head.

"No, no, it's fine. I've been...I've been good, most of the time. I mean," he found himself blinking rapidly, a reflex he had to weariness. "I mean, everyone has their ups-and-downs, right?"

Piper nodded cooperatively, knowing that if she could just keep him talking a bit longer...

"And sure, some things have been tough, especially..." but Chris suddenly cut himself off, mid sentence, and seemed to tense up.

"Chris? Chris, what's wrong?" Piper asked, not out of concern, but more out of confusion.

"I-I don't know. I just suddenly felt...weird. Sort of cold, but...not cold?" he furrowed his brow in puzzlement.

"Chris, that just doesn't make any..."

"Hello? I'm home!"

Oh shit.

"-sense."

Wyatt.

Piper felt her heart jump up in her throat, beating madly. Wyatt wasn't supposed to come home until dinner! Oh no-

Chris perked up slightly, having heard someone yell loudly from the foyer. Turning to the doorway to the dining room, he awaited anxiously for the bearer of that voice. After all, it stood to reason, that if the person was "home," that they would have some sort of connection, relation, to Chris. He expected a cousin, perhaps, or an uncle.

"Do you know where aunt Phoebe...is...What he fuck?"

But he sure didn't expect to see the man from the café standing in his mothers kitchen.

"Chris? Hey! Wh-what are you doing here?" he asked. He seemed a bit thrown, coming home to find the country bumpkin having tea with his mother, but for some reason, it seemed...right? Like, he should ahve been expeting it at some point?

Either way, it was a pleasant surprise. All the way through town, he'd been trying to figure out who the hell that runt was...he looked SO familiar...maybe now he'd get an answer.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing here?" He chuckled good-naturdly as he said it, but inside, something was flicking on and off like a miswired lamp; there was something here, something that would be illuminated, understood, nearly comprehended for a fraction of a second, before the light switched off, leaving him lost. It was like searching for the name of a child hood friend, long forgotten...

"Uh, I live here, Chris. I grew up here. But..Mom, are you OK?" he suddenly noticed that his mothers complexion had adapted the color of sour milk, and she was tugging at her hair, something she did only when he was at her wits end.

Piper may have been pale, but Chris had gone ghostly white. No...he had to have seen wrong; surely, he had. Lip reading was tricky, difficult, never 100 percent accurate. It was easy to mistake "M's" for "P's" or "B's"...

"But he couldn't see Wyatt calling Piper "Pop" or "Bob"

He'd called her Mom.

Which would mean...that would make Wyatt...Oh God...

The emotional shock and disbelief was all that Piper's concoction needed to finally kick in. Suddenly overtaken by a battery of exhaustion, Chris felt himself being enveloped in a warm darkness, peacefully cradling his on all sides. He didn't fight it, Hell COULDN'T fight it. His eyes drooping closed, he caught the distorted, blurry form of a person, running towards him. He felt himself tremble, sway, fall...And he welcomed oblivion, a safe haven from thoughts, emotion, denial...

After all, it wasn't everyday that you find out the stranger from a thousand miles away is your brother.

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another chapter I'm pleased with! I especially loved Leo's emotions, and Wyatt.

This chapter is dedicated to EVERYONE who reviewed, but two people in particular;

ArtysThunder, who wrote my land mark 50th review, and Teal-Lover, whose many messages prompted me to finish this chapter two whole days early! You should all thank her!

Also, for those of you who were desperately hoping for a chapter riddled with emotion, wrought with angst and despair, packed with tears, screaming, breakdowns...don't worry! You'll get that chapter soon! Or at least, you will if you review! (Maybe I should post-pone updating till I get seventy reviews...JK!) :)

lottsa love,

LLC


	7. Chapter 7

Hello my dear, loved and appreciated readers!...OK, enough groveling; I apologize for the wait! The thing is, I love this fic, it's my personal favorite of my own. And being as such, I want to make sure each and every chapter is up to par; I don't want to disappoint you, or myself.

ANYway, thanks you all for the great reviews! I love every single one of them!

This chapter has taken quite a bit of thought, because two things (well, one thing, twice) will happen in this chapter, and I had to make sure it happened just right.

A/N. Although this will be explained by Chris to the family in future chapters, I feel the need to explain this to you now, so that I don't get a bunch of confused PM's! Victor is Chris's legal gaurdian, and although he didn't adopt Chris, Chris, as soon as he was old to enough to, had the name "Bennet" tacked onto "Halliwell". So legally his name is Chris Halliwell-Bennet. However, he only uses the "halliwell" part for paperwork and legal stuff; in everyday life, he introduces himself and refers to himself as Chris Bennet, and always has. Despite loving his family dearly, he just never felt a connection between himself and the Halliwell surname.

Warning: moderate to explicit language used sparingly

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Wyatt knew the boy was going to faint almost as soon as he got a good look at him. He was considerably paler than he was thirty minutes ago, after there little meet 'n greet. And he swayed, as though unsure that his legs could continue to support him.

Which, they didn't.

Rushing forward as he started to fall, Wyatt managed to grab his round the chest, and fought to keep them both from sailing to the linoleum; the kid looked dead on his feet the way it was, the last thing he needed was a hard fall.

Once he was sure they weren't going to split their skulls open on the floor, the older man loosened his hold on Chris, to get a better look at him. And he didn't look very good.

"Chris? Hey Chris, come on, you with us?" he shook him gently, his shoulders cradled against Wyatts strong arm. A deep sense of worry and fear crept into his very being, which was, to Wyatt, quite odd; he didn't even know the kid! But there was something about him, a sort of 'Innocent' quality, he guessed, that reached out, desperate to be helped...

He shook him a bit harder, more urgent. "Hey, Chris, come on, wake up!" But he ramined still, and Wyatt was beginning to worry.

"Mom? What was going on? Do you think we should..." he began, but stopped abruptly when he realized that Piper was no longer in the room. At some pont in the small commotion, she had up and left. Wyatt was at a loss; Piper was one of the most caring and nurturing people he knew; it just wasn't like her to make an exit when someone was obviously not well.

Sighing, he turned his attention back to the dark-haired boy in his arms. He didn't appear to be hurt; no blood, no gaping wounds, and a quick touch confirmed that he wasn't running a fever,

'Maybe he's anemic or something,' Wyatt conceded, mainly because he couldn't really think of a good reason why a strange kid, whom he had met less than an hour ago, was now lying unconscious in his kitchen.

Either way, he was totally out of it. Wyatt readjusted his hold on Chris, bracing him aganinst his back and under his legs and easily lifted him; he was several inches (and several punds) smaller than Wyatt, so it was a simple task.

Maneuvering his lanky frame through two doorways and into the living room, without knocking his head or shin, was a bit trickier. But he managed to lay the still unmoving figure down onto the couch without any further injury.

He really didn't know what to do; he was working on a degree in social work, not medicine. He knew enough, through basic training he'd had growing up ( a nessecity when hardly a month went by without some sort of injury) to place several pillows beneath Chris's legs, to try to get more blood flowing to his head; he hoped it might help him wake sooner.

And he STILL couldn't shake the feeling that he knew him from somewhere; there was just something about his thick, shaggy hair, the birthmark freckle on his nose, that drove Wyatt insane, trying to figure out who the hell he was! His mother apparently knew; she WAS having tea with him, after all...

Which cleared the possibility that he was a demon; the thought had occured to Wyatt and vanished within three seconds; he was taught to always trust his instincts, and his instincts told him, Screamed at him, that this kid, Chris...he was good. Very good.

But that left drove Wyatt around the block and back to square one; who in the name of the Gods was he!

There was a way to possibly find out...it wasn't very mral, but considering he was still completely out of it, Wyatt didn't guess he'd get caught.

Sitting himself on the coffee table, Wyatt tugged at Chris's jacket, which was twisted beneath him, to find the pocket. Inside he found a small notepad, a pack of gum and...yes!...a school ID.

Still knowing he was doing a major no-no, Wyatt flipped the ID over; it bore a seemingly recent photo of Chris. The name "H.-Bennett, Christopher"

Well, a fat lot oh help that was! He didn't know a Chris H- Bennet. Plenty of Chris's, sure, even a couple people with the surn name Bennet; just, no one with both.

Not that he really expected the name to jog much memory. According to the ID, he attended Halston High School in Colorado. Wyatt didn't know anyone who lived in Colorado.

A bit grumpy at seeming defeat, Wyatt blew a stray lock of curly hair away from his face with a gusty breath. This was worse than trying to remember that one chorus line you could never quite remember in the song that was stuck in your head. You knew you knew it, it was on the tip of your tongue for a moment, and then...nothing.

If only he knew where the hell his mother was, then he could maybe get some answers. But her car was gone from the driveway, and she'd left without a word. That was so unlike his mother.

A soft murmur from Chris's prone form drew his attention back to the boy. He hoped for a moment that he was waking up, but he just stretched, turned his head to a more comfortable position, and was silent once more.

He looked over the boy a few more moments, searching for something, anything, that would tell Wyatt who the hell he was!

He didn't find the neon sign he was hoping for, but he did notice something else; a thin, black wire, half hidden amongst his unruly brown hair. Naturally curious, despite his aunts warnings about curiosity and dead cats, Wyatt gently brusk back Chris's hair, revealing a thick band wrapping behind and into his ear.

"Huh. Well I'll be damned." he mumbled to himself. 'Well, that explains why he didn't hear me yelling at him.'

He suddenly felt very awkward, gawking at Chris like that; which was ridiculous, since the boy still wasn't even awake to tell him off for staring. Turning away, embarrassed for being so God dammed nosy, Wyatt tried to think of some way to busy himself around the house. (He didn't want Chris to be alone when he woke up. He'd probably have a caniption fit)

Wandering around like a man habiting No-Man's Land, the older witch found himself in the kitchen. He could tell right away that something was amiss. It was quite obvious that Piper had left the room in a hurry; two cups of now-cold tea sat on the counter; one still full, the other half-empty. The kettle sat on the stove, another serving of the hot liquid still puddled at the bottom. And on the counter, several jars and bottles of herbs and seasoning were scattered about; there was even some sprinkled haphazardly on the marble counter tops.

In most households, this would be nothing out of the ordinary. But the kitchen was his mothers sanctuary; there was never a single pan out of place. Every ingredient used as measured with precision, spills wiped up, and the ingredient stored back in the proper cupboard immediately; having things strewn across the kitchen was just not a very Piper thing to do...

Picking up the two ceramic cups, Wyatt dumped the remaining tea down the sink, turned on the tap and swirled water around to rinse them out. The same went for the kettle (he hated tea).

Now, Wyatt was not a chef; he could make toast and Jell-O, and that was pushing it. But he did know that most people did not put sloth skin in tea, or cotton wood bark. In fact, the only time he'd seen those two ingredients used together at all was to make...

No. No way. Why on earth would Piper drug Chris? Unless, he really WAS a demon...

But Wyatt knew that wasn't right. He wasn't an Empath, but he could sense something off of Chris; he couldn't quire put his finger on what, but it wasn't evil...

But then, why would Piper slip a sleeping potion into is drink? It made no sense at all.

Of course, Wyatt reasoned with himself, Mom's been under a lot of stress lately, with P3 becoming a franchised restaurant and all; maybe she just wasn't thinking clearly. Yeah, that must be it.. Just a mistake...

'But Chris got knocked on his ass from that "mistake,"', Wyatt argued with himself. He didn't know why, but he felt a strong sense of protectiveness over that kid; he spoke to him for no more than five minutes, but when he saw him start to fall, he nearly choked as his heart thudded up in his throat.

He supposed he would have been that way with his own Chris, if he was still alive. It was strange, really. He could barely remember his baby brother, but he remembered knowing he was gone.

Closing the glass fronted cabinets softly, as though worried of waking up the young man in the next room, Wyatt pored himself a cup of coffee and headed back to the living room. Setting down in one of the soft, overstuffed arm chairs, he let his mind drift back to Chris, HIS Chris...

He had only been three years old when his brother was taken, so he really didn't have any solid memories. He recalled sharing a room with the new baby, sitting in the play pen once with him...but nothing substantial. No recollections of showing him how to do new things, no staying up half the night talking, like his cousins did. Didn't remember taking care of him...

Wyatt had eight cousins. Aunt Phoebe had 2 girls, and Aunt Paige, six. All girls. Piper didn't have any more children after Chris; Wyatt wasn't sure why, really. It would probably have been too painful, maybe she would have felt like she was replacing Chris. But whatever the reason, Wyatt had ended up being, essentially, an only child. There were times when, watching his cousins all play together, help their little sisters up the stairs, or, as they got older, show them how to scry and make potions, that he would have willingly stripped his own powers to have his brother back. Would have given his own life, if it could have been him instead of Chris...

His mother never talked about Chris; if his name came up, she'd immediately try to change the subject. It was a touchy subject for Aunt Paige as well. But his father, he loved to talk about Chris, both the baby, and the adult. Yes, Leo had told Wyatt about his little brother, the time travelor. He had never really told him what it was that he came back for though...

He even showed him pictures once; his favorite then, and still is, one of Chris just nefore he disapeared, and Wyatt. They were sitting together at the table; Chris in his high chair, Wyatt in a booster seat. The date on the back indicated that it was Thanksgiving; just days after Chris's first birthday. Strangely, there were no pictures of his party...

Setting his coffee down, untouched, Wyatt ran his hands through his tangled blonde curls. He HAD to stop doing this; every time he dwelled on his brother's memory, he just ended up getting himself all upset. His cousin Adrianna referred to it as getting all "girly"

He picked the chipped mug up again, brought it to his lips and took a swallow; it was too sweet for his liking, with all those weird flavors chicks like to mix around in their coffee, but he took another drink anyway.

"Hmmuhmmm..."

Another mumble from Chris distracted him from his wallowing. Wyatt sighed in relief, letting out a breath he wasn't he even aware he had been holding; it looked like he was finally waking up. Setting his cup down on the table (sans coaster; it'd leave a stain, and Mom would yell, but somehow, he didn't care.)

He sat down on the edge of the coffee table, which ran lengthwise in front of the beige couch. Chris had his eyes squeeze closed, and looked overall grumpy; reminding him, surprisingly, of himself when his alarm clock went off in the mornings.

"Chris? Hey, come on, wake up!" he shook his shoulder urgently, but trying not to jar him too much. He didn't want to hurt him.

"Hmm...go 'way." Chris mumbled moodily at the shaking, his brow creasing in annoyance.

Wyatt just shook his head and laughed. He had a feeling he and Chris could get along just fine.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that it's rude to tell someone to get out of their own home?" he joked as Chris tried to bury his head in the cushions.

He had woken up feeling so tired, so warm. And all he wanted to do as burrow farther down into the couch and sleep for a few days. Or at least until Wednesday; he had a big history test.

Shaking him a little more roughly, Wyatt tried to rouse Sleeping Beauty. "Come on, I know you're in there somewhere." silence. "Chris, the house is on fire, you better get a move on!" he continued, before he realized (with a blush) that Chris probably couldn't even hear him...

But unfortunately for Chris, sleep was not an option, as a fault line apparently decided to form under his bedroom, as Grandpa just wouldn't stop shaking him. Thoroughly pissed off by this point, Chris, face half hidden in the pillow, pried one eye open wide enough...to see that the man shaking him was definately NOT Grandpa!

"Holy shit!" he yelled, jerking away from Wyatt. In his blind panic, he didn't recognize his brother yet. Scrambling to get away from the older man, Chris sent himself crashing down over the back of the couch, nearly knocking himself out again as his head cracked on the table.

"Aw, fuck!" he cursed, rubbing the side of his head vigorously to ease the pain. Letting out a string of vulgarities (both in his head and out loud) he felt the floor beneath him vibrate with running footsteps. Looking up with a grimace, he found Wyatt kneeling beside him, looking concerned.

"Are you ok?" he asked, his ice blue eyes wide and worried.

Growling, Chris prodded the tender spot on his skull with his finger tips, hissing when he prodded too hard. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he demanded of his new-found brother

Taken aback, and on the defensive, Wyatt blinked before countering, "What's the matte with me? YOU'RE the one who took a swan dive on the back of our couch!"

"What the hell is the matter with you," Chris continued evenly. "Don't you know that seeing your face that early in the...evening...can be hazardous to peoples health?" he punctuated his statement wit the patented, sweet "Me? I haven't done anything wrong!" smile that worked magic on his Grandpa.

And Wyatt, it seemed.

The blonde chuckled and, still shaking his head, stood up and offered Chris a hand up as well. Which he needed, for as soon as he was on his own two feet again, he had to reach out and grab hold of Wyatt as a strange dizzy spell overtook him.

"Woah, hey, you alright?" Wyatt wanted to know, scanning over Chris quickly.

"Um, yeah. Just...what happened?" he asked Wyatt. His memories of the last few hours were a bit scrambled. He knew where he was and, though he was still in shock about it, he knew who Wyatt was but...

"You, uh...you fainted," Wyatt improvised. He figured it sounded a lot more convincing than "My mom knocked you out with a sleeping potion straight out of our magic book."

But Chris nodded, accepting the excuse.

"Maybe you should sit down for a bit," Wyatt said, and mentally added 'so I can ask you who the hell you are'.

"No, no. I'm fine, really." Chris tried to argue, but still let Wyatt lead him over to the couch to sit. Somehow, he trusted Wyatt. He knew he shouldn't, really. He may have been his brother and all, but you can't just be all close to someone you've only met, even if they are family!

But Wyatt really seemed to care for him. Almost as if he knew...but he couldn't of course. At least, not yet.

"Um, Chris?" Wyatt started, along with a soft shake of Chris's arm to get his attention.

"Hmm?" the young witch responded, turning his wandering attention back to Wyatt.

"Would you like something to drink, or eat? You still look a bit pale,"

"I'm always pale," Chris explained with a shrug. "And no, thank you. Like I said, I'm fine." he was suddenly a bit shy, and rather uncomfortable with Wyatt staring at him like that. Now he knew how his English teach er must have felt...

There was an uncomfortable silence between the two, that even Chris could distinguish from the silence he went though his whole life now in. There was just a tension in the room; Chris not knowing what he was supposed to do, Wyatt not knowing what to say. Chris had half a nerve to just turn to Wyatt and say 'Hi, I'm Chris, your long-lost brother.' Course, it was only HALF a nerve, so it didn't really count...

Fortunately, neither brother had to worry about uncomfortable silences for much longer, as a moment later, right in the middle of the living room, a swirl of glowing blue lights swarmed together, coprealizing into sandy-haired man.

Whom Chris instantly recognized from his dream.

"Wyatt, do you know where..." Leo began when he was fully formed, before he caught site of the guest seated quietly and politely on the sofa. Well, he would have been polite, if it wasn't for his mouth hanging open a good six inches, his eyes gaping at his...his father...

"Oh, fuck!" Wyatt hissed from between clenched teeth, trying to figure out how to explain to his new guest why his Dad had just appeared out of thin air. He looked from his father to Chris, each of whom wore identical expressions of disbelief. Wyatt, of course, assumed that Chris was about to faint again from terror, and that his father was trying to figure out how to get out of this one without the Cleaners.

So image the looks of shock on WYATT'S face when his father suddenly rushed forward, throwing his arms around Chris and holding him tight. With tears in his eyes, running down his cheeks.

Every bit of common sense Leo had had gone down the drain the moment he orbed in. Because common sense told him his son was dead. Common sense told him their was no way that Chris could be sitting on that couch. Common sense told him that it was a warlock, demon, shape shifter...

But instinct told him otherwise.

Instinct, a pure, sudden spark, had urged him off of that bridge. A pull, deep n his gut, telling him something wasn't right...

Wyatt could only remember seeing his father cry once; and he had been three years old.

Wyatt expected Chris to panic, to try and wrestle his way out of the arms of this obviously psychotic man.

But then again, nothing Wyatt expected was actually taking place tonight.

Chris sat stiffly for a moment, looking for all the world like someone had shot him with a tazer. But slowly, a smile, spread across his handsome features, and he hesitantly returned his fathers embrace.

Wyatt though, of course, hadn't been let in on this whole family reunion. He sat there, shaking his head and looking around for the hidden cameras.

"Oh God, I can't believe it," Leo murmured into Chris's dark har, his voice choked."I can't believe it's you."

"Can't believe it's WHO Dad?" Wyatt demanded, all meditation-taught patience flying out the door.

Leo turned towards his oldest, having completely forgotten he was there. His face was blotched, tear stained, his eyes red,

But Wyatt had never seen his Dad happier. More alive.

"Wait...you don't know?" he asked, taken aback.

"I don't know what it is I supposedly don't know!" Wyatt declared, his temper showing through. He was just getting very fed up with being left out of all this/.

"But...if you don't know, then..." he turned back to his youngest, who sat there grinning from ear to ear. "What are you doing here?"

Chris couldn't break his gaze away from Leo's...his eyes were green, just like his...

"I...I knew you were here, Dad. You and Mom, and I..." he trailed off, not knowing how to continue.

But he didn't need to, because Wyatt, having been all ears, had heard the two crucial words in that sentence. Mom, Dad.

And it suddenly hit him. Now he knew why Chris looked so familiar. Those green eyes, his light skin, that freckle...

"Oh God," he whispered, not trusting his own voice. He stared at Chris as though he was seeing him for the first time. 'God, he looks just like Mom,' he thought to himself. "But, but I...I don't understand! I mean, you...you're dead!"

He immediately knew he'd messed up, and clapped his hands over his mouth, a classic "oh, sit" look on his face.

And so he let it slip. Chris looked at him oddly, then to his father.

"Wh-What's that supposed to mean? Last time I checked, I wasn't dead,"

Leo just shook his head, his jade eyes threatening to spill tears down his face again.

"Chris, we- we thought that you were...you were gone," Leo started, still not believing that the young man before him was really his son...his baby Chris. His mind still hadn't grasped on to the idea. He moved to sit on the couch next the boy, with Wyatt on his other side, still staring in awe at...his brother. His little brother...

"Gone?" Chris had paled slightly. "Wh-What do yo mean, 'gone'?

Leo, taking a deep breath, started to tearfully explain what had happened to him, all those years ago. It pained him, especially when he saw Chris's eyes start to water, but Chris deserved to know...know why they stopped looking...

And all three men were so caught up in their long-awaited reunion, in holding Chris tightly, not wanting to let go, that none of them noticed Piper standing in the foyer, her face stoic and with three potion vials clenched in her hands...

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yay! Finally! I know it sounds dumb, since I'm the one writing the story, but I'm so glad that Leo and Wyatt know! Now I can finally get to what I've been waiting forever to write for this story! there will be LOT's more Wyatt and Leo in this story!

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I sincerely hope that you review again! They let me know that I'm still doing SOMETHING right!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	8. Chapter 8

Hey y'all! Yes, I know it's been ages since I updated this story; I've SWORN to myself not to start ay new ones until I finish Destined to Die?

ANYway thank you ALL so much for the great reviews! They really are the reason I do this; so you guys can enjoy the story!

Well then, let's get on with it, shall we?

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Chris had imagined meeting his parents since he was six years old. He'd wished on every star, blew out scores of birthday candles with his past in mind, blew more dandelion seeds than he could count. He imagined what they would look like, how they would act and, until the incident, how their voices would sound. That was, to Chris, the most depressing aspect of his hearing loss; knowing that not only would be never gain hear his grandfather or friends, but he wouldn't get the chance to hear his mother, his father…

But sitting here, his dads arms wrapped tightly around him, rocking very slightly, with his newly-discovered brother mimicking the same…it made up for it ten-fold. The feeling of Leo's hands brushing through his long hair, the racing thrum of his heart…no voice, no words in any language could convey such a feeling of awe, or miracle, or perfect peace.

Not one of the three men knew how long hey sat there, each deep in his own thoughts; finding a son, a brother, a family…it seemed almost as if they could just sit there in silence for hours…

It was only minutes later, though, when Leo finally pulled back, his face tear-streaked and happier than he had been in 16 years.

"God…God, look at you!" he beamed, holding Chris at arms length. "I can't believe how tall you are…"

"16 years, and you comment on my height?" Chris laughed, mostly because he just wasn't sure what else to say. How do you start filling in a stranger on 16 years of life? It's a tad more complex than, "How you been?" "Good, you?"

His father, apparently, agreed, for there was another era of silence following. Neither knew where to begin. Luckily, they had Wyatt in the room, who just never knew when to shut up.

"Chris, where have you been?" he asked, taking enough thought to be looking at Chris as he talked. He wasn't sure exactly what sort of…problem…Chris had, but he wasn't sure how to ask. "I mean, Mom and Dad was looking for you for years."

"I'm living with Grandpa out in Colorado, a small town near the Kansas border," he explained. "Er…wait…do you even know Grandpa?" he knew for a fact that Grandpa hadn't had any contact with the family in ages,

Wyatt shook his head, wild curls swinging round his face. "I know OF him, but I've never met him. According to Mom, they gut in a huge fight after you…you disappeared and they hadn't spoken since. You've always lived with him?"

"Yeah," Chris answered, becoming more and more comfortable with these people. "For as long as I can remember. He raised me ever since Mom left."

He thought it was a simple comment, maybe a conversation started. Unfortunately, the conversation switched…

"Left you?" both Wyatt and Leo questioned simultaneously.

"What do you mean, left you?" Leo inquired tentivaly. "Chris, why would your mother leave you?"

Chris wasn't expecting that. He hadn't realized that his family wouldn't know, despite knowing that they thought he was dead.

"I- I don't know," he admitted, shifting uncomfortably. He was getting nervous now, which was bad, as his speech tender to fumble and stutter when he was nervous. "I don't know. I never knew. All Grandpa ever told me was that she left me with him for a week and…and he didn't come back…" he noted the outraged looks on his brother and father's faces, and quickly added, "But she wouldn't do that, she could never…I always thought it had to be because of a demon or..or a spell…' he trailed off, thoroughly distressed by now.

Wyatt, be it acting from Empathy or some deep-rooted connection, pulled Chris close again, calming him. This was overwhelming enough for him, he couldn't imagine how huge this was to Chris!

Trying to do the same, Leo said, "Of course she wouldn't just leave you, Chris! She loves you, we all do! You have no idea how devastated she was- we all were."

But unbeknownst to the 3 reunited Halliwell's, the so-called loving mother was standing just over 10 feet away, listening to their sickeningly sweet reunion, 3 bottles of potion held tightly in her hand. 'She'd never leave you…' If only they knew! She thought bitterly. 'If only they knew what I know…'

She'd kept quiet throughout their entire conversation, waiting for the moment to catch them off guard.

It was a rather simple potion. A powerful sleeping draught to knock them out for several hours, with only a few side effects, then a short spell to alter their memories a bit, just as she had altered Paige and Phoebe's memory to make them forget that they wanted to have their one-year-old nephew around, and then again to erase the recollections of abandoning the brat. Hopefully, it would return their memories to thinking that Chris was dead. Then she'd send that sorry excuse for a witch back to whatever hellhole he crawled out of.

She honestly didn't know what had gone wrong. That cloaking spell was her strongest; he was never suppose to find them, never suppose to be found! She didn't want that thing anywhere near her family!

"So you DO know about magic?" Leo asked; now back on a positive track of conversation.

"Yeah, Grandpa was always open about it, "Chris explained, fingering the silver chain he wore around his neck, from which a small pentagram hung. "He was always worried about demons and warlocks and all that, but we never had a problem with them."

"Do you have any powers?" his brother asked excitedly.

Chris nodded, ticking them off on his fingers. "I have telekinesis, orbing, I can make things blow up, and…what's wrong?"

Both Wyatt and Leo had suddenly whipped their heads around, apparently startled by a sharp noise behind them. Chris was about to follow their gaze to the other end of the room, when he saw his father collapse, slumping against the couch.

"Wh-what the…Dad?" he said cautiously, not understanding what was going on. "Wyatt, what's wrong wi…Wyatt!"

Looking to his other side, he saw Wyatt in much of the same state, apparently fast asleep.

"Wyatt…Wyatt! Hey, wake up!" Chris began shaking his brother, gently at first but then harder, more fervently. Something was terribly wrong…

He was wracking his thoughts, wondering what to do, when a shadow fell across his vision. His vision began to darken, and not just from the covered son; his line of sight was narrowing, becoming darker…and just before the light disappeared completely, he could have…could have SWORN that he saw his mother standing over him.

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The first thing he became aware of was the throbbing pain in his head, as though his skull was shifting and breaking apart under his skin. He had no idea where he was, but didn't care. All that mattered at the moment was drifting back off to sleep where the pain couldn't reach him. But the throbbing was stubborn and wouldn't let him retreat back into the darkness; the throbbing, and someone shaking him desperately.

He groaned softly, trying to pull way from whoever had a hold on him, but they held on fast, relentlessly shaking him.

Finally, he managed to pry his eyes open into slits, and the shaking stopped, replaced by a hand combing through his hair, over and over. Mumbling again, he blinked, opening his eyes wider, and a form began to come into focus above him; it was grandpa.

"Chris, are you alright? What happened?"

"Hummmmrr…wha?'" he murmured, closing his eyes against the overhead light.

"Chris, come on, stay with me," Victor coaxed, giving him another good shake.

Chris scrunched up his eyes, thoroughly agitated. "Whad…whadywant?" he slurred, squinting his eyes open enough to see his grandfather speak.

"Chris, are you alright?" he asked again.

"Hmm…m'head hurrs…" he again stumbled through his words, as he usually did when he had a bad headache. He took a moment to look around, to at least figure out where he was. He found himself lying sprawled on the living room floor. The man lights on in the house suggested it was late evening. "Wha' happen'?"

"I was wondering the same thing, Chris," Victor relied. He was kneeling down beside his grandson. "I just got home, and found you unconscious on the floor…"

"I don' 'm-member anything…I-I 'member you leavin', an'…tha's all…"

Chris sighed-groaned, trying to push himself upright, but his head began to spin, making him feel like he was going to pass out.

"Woah, woah!" Victor called out, wrapping his arms around him, holding him up. "Slow down here; you really don't look so good, Chris. Maybe we should take you to a doctor..."

"N-no!" he stuttered firmly. Chris hated hospitals, couldn't stand to be in one. "I-I-I'm fine, rreally. I think I-I just need to eat or s-something…"

Victor studied the boy intently for a moment; he was pale and clammy, and shaking slightly. But Victor just chewed on his lip for a moment, and said, "Alright. Maybe you're right. C'mon; let's get you into bed and I'll make you something to eat."

"I c-can eat at the table, Grammpa," he argued halfheartedly as Victor helped him to his feet.

"I seriously doubt that, Chris." Victor said solemnly. "You can barely keep yourself upright; just don't argue, alright? I have half a mind to drag you to the ER."

Nothing like blackmail to shut someone up.

Chris couldn't remember his rumpled bed ever being more inviting or comfortable s it was when he sunk down under the covers. His headache was starting to subside, and the shaking was easing off, but the queer feeling was still clinging to him; what the heck had happened? The last thing he remembered, he was in his bedroom, doing his homework…and the next, he was lying in the middle on the living room floor. Grandpa is usually gone for about 3 hours…that's three hours that Chris couldn't remember, that were just gone…

He heard the microwave running in the kitchen; a common sound when Grandpa was doing the "cooking". Probably Campbell's, but Chris really didn't care. He wasn't sure if it was just aftereffects from his 'nap', or if t was nerves from not knowing what happened, but he was feeling awful; tired, jittery, and hungry.

Just as he thought, Victor came back into Chris's room several minute's later with a bowl of chicken noodle and a glass of orange juice.

"Careful, it's hot," Victor warned as Chris began to eat. It didn't bother Chris much; he was used to Grandpa's food being overly hot or under heated.

Victor, being the bundle of nerves he always was with Chris, hovered around till Chris had finished, looking very busy doing nothing.

He knew he had really scared Grandpa tonight, d felt somewhat guilty for it, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. He had always been overprotective of him anyway, especially after he turned 13 and lost his hearing. Chris often joked that he was one trip away from wrapping him in bubble wrap. So he could only imagine how panicked he much have been to find his grandson unmoving on the floor, not knowing what had happened…

Chris himself still had no idea. He had probably been unconscious since Victor had left, and yet…he had a horrible feeling that he'd forgotten something…

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Despite him exhaustion, Chris slept fitfully that night. He'd catch a few snippets of sleep, then wake up, turn over to look at his clock, and see that barely ten minutes had gone by. His mind was going 50 different directions, confused by the days events and the commercials that passed as fragmented dreams and he just couldn't get comfortable. The bed that had seemed so welcoming before was now too hot, too cold, too small. He sensed Victor at his doorway a half dozen times to check on him, and awoke at least twice to find him smoothing his hair or taking his temperature.

By morning, he felt dreadful. He figured he'd gotten a grand total of one hours sleep last night, between his tossing, his head sill hurt and on top of that he was running a fever.

"You're definitely not going to school today," Victor had stated that morning, after he read the thermometer at 101.6. Not earth-shaking or serious, but enough to make Chris feels like crrap.

Chris just nodded absently, curling up under his covers, desperate to catch a few more hours of sleep.

Victor had offered to stay home from work with him, but Chris argued that he was 17, and it was just a cold; he could take care of himself.

After willingly knocking himself out with a dose of Nyquil, he slept through most of the morning. Once he woke up, he dragged himself out of bed long enough to go to the bathroom and pour himself a glass of juice before hiding back under his blankets with a book, trying to get his mind of the feeling that he'd forgotten something very, very important…

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When Victor got home from work at four o'clock, the house was quiet. Shrugging off his coat, he went straight to check on his grandson; he'd been worried about him all day.

He found Chris sound sleep, curled up under several thick blankets, an empty glass by his bed.

He didn't want to wake him, but Chris had seemed to always be able to sense when someone was near him. Opening his jade eyes, he looked blearily round the room, looking for whatever had woken him up.

"Hey, Chris. Feeling better?" he asked, sitting down beside his still half-sleep grandson. Chris just mumbled something incomprehensible and yawned.

Chuckling, Victor took that as an "I was fine till you woke me up" He laid his palm gently on Chris's forehead; he still felt hot, but not as much as this morning. The sleep he'd gotten today had obviously helped.

"Come on Chris; wake up! You had your nap!" Victor laughed, shaking Chris awake. His jesting wouldn't reach Chris, but the shaking would get his attention.

"Hmphgllssm," Chris mumbled threateningly into his pillow. He'd been sleeping so good, dang it! So he just nestled further down into his pillow and ignored him.

"Hey, don't you pull that trick with me!" Victor accused, knowing full well what Chris was doing. Keeping his eyes closed was his equivalent of sticking his fingers in his ears and singing.

Another good shake had Chris. Sighing, and finally opened one eye to glare at his grandfather. "Can I help you?" he asked, peeved.

"I'm just wondering how you've been today. Is it a crime to worry about my only child?" he joked.

"Hmm..it is when you have to wake me up to do so!" he groused, pushing himself up. "Bu since you asked, I'm fine."

"Hmm…you look less than fine," Victor commented, skeptically, His grandson was still flushed from his temperature, with dark circles around his eyes. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Er…does crackers and orange juice count?"

Victor shook his head. "Nope. Crackers don't cut it, Chris." He broke the news. "But there's still some soup in the pantry."

"Sounds fine, I guess. I'm just no very hungry."

"I know you're not, but you need to eat something." Victor answered, getting up to leave the room.

Chris was asleep again before he'd even shut the door. Nyquil had that effect on him.

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Beef soup and toast wasn't exactly a gourmet meal, but food was food, he supposed, and it appeased his grandfather. After dinner, during which Chris had nearly fallen asleep in his orange juice, he curled up on the living room couch under a throw, Victor in the decrepit recliner, as his grandpa flipped through the TV channels. TV sucked on Tuesdays for the most part, but House was in constant re-runs and was always a good entertainment for the two.

It had taken Chris a while to get use to reading closed captioning while still following what was happening on screen, but it was second nature to him now. Even grandpa had gotten to be able to ignore it. Thinking back, Chris realized it probably wasn't the words scrolling across the screen that bothered him, but the fact that it was just one more way his 'problem' was intruding on every aspect of their lives. It was just little things; the close captions, the flickering light that let Chris know someone was at the door, that all added up. There were times when Chris could imagine that this whole thing had been harder to Victor than it was on him.

Chris had flt better after he ate; hopefully enough that he'd be able to go to school tomorrow (not that he really WANTED to go to school, but with chemistry and algebra, it was easy to get behind missing one day. He was still slightly feverish, but his head had stopped aching…and he still had that feeling in he pit of his stomach…

The pair were just getting to the part when a Vicodin deprived House was above to have a girls arm sawed off when Victor hear someone pounding on he door. Chris, not bothered in the slightest by the interruption, continued to follow the show as Victor grumbled about late visitors and stood to answer the door.

Victor guessed severl people to be behind the thin white door of their apartment. A salesman, bill collector, friend…

But he sure didn't expect to see the tall, curly-haired young man standing before him, or the shorter, graying man net to him.

"Wh-what the…what are you doing here?!" he exclaimed, after he picked him jaw up off the floor.

The blonde seemed to have a similar loss for words, for the only answer Victor got was a nervous "Hey…grandpa…is Chris home?"

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Well, there y'all have it! It took e hardly any time t all to finish this chapter since I started! Good-bye writers block!

ANYway, I hope you enjoyed, and please be sure to review! And look for the update for Promises and Lies, coming soon to a monitor near you!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	9. Chapter 9

Alrighty then! I think I've left y'all hanging long enough! I hope you enjoy, and thank you to ALL the reviews!

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"Hey…grandpa…is Chris home?"

Was it not for the circumstances, Victor would have laughed at the situation. Here, his long-estranged grandson and son-in-law showing up on his doorstep out of the blue, asking if Chris was home! For God's sake, did it GET any more random?

"Um…grandpa?" Wyatt cautioned, a bit hesitantly.

"I, uh…" Victor stammered, unable to put a cognitive thought together. But he really needn't worry about that…

"Grandpa? Who is it?" Chris startled the older man, having snuck up behind him. He looked from his tense, somewhat pale grandfather to the two men standing in the doorway.

"Um, hello? Can I help you?" he asked politely, thinking they were probably collecting for some charity.

Both the men seemed rather crestfallen at Chris's formal response though, because the older one sighed and ran his hand through his hair, while the taller one let his broad shoulder sag.

"You were right, Dad. He doesn't remember!" he wailed, obviously distressed.

"Um…remember what?" Chris asked, confused. "Do I know you?"

The blonde shifted uncomfortably, choosing his words slowly.

"Yes…and no. You know us, sorta, but not really…"

Chris raised one eyebrow, a dull pain forming in his temple; he wasn't sure if it was from his brain trying to process that nonsense or just a leftover from the cold he had.

"Er…what?" he asked, raising his fingers to his temple and rubbing tenderly.

The blonde stole a sidelong glance at the older man beside him, apparently his father. Finally, he sighed exasperated and turned to Victor, "Grandpa, you wanna help us out here?"

While Victor stammered, opening and closing his mouth like a fish, at a loss for words, Chris began to slowly process those words in his fever-muddled brain. Did he…did he just call him 'grandpa?'

There was something familiar about these two, something that struck a cord buried deep into Chris's memory, like trying to dredge up a dream he'd had as a child.

"Just…just hold on a sec!" he finally interrupted the awkward silence. "Who ARE you two?" he demanded, impatient with curiosity and frustration.

They glanced at each other for the briefest moment, before the tall blonde man, who looked only a few years older than himself, came forward, extended his hand, and introduced himself.

"I'm Wyatt…Wyatt Halliwell." He said slowly. "I'm, uh…I'm your brother…"

Chris was quiet for a minute, intently studying the man before him, his hand frozen mid-shake. "M-My brother," he repeated slowly, as though testing the taste of the words in his mouth. "Of course you are…" he said faintly, the little color left in his face draining. Victor noticed immediately and quickly took Chris's arms and guided him over to a chair in the nearby dining room.

He leaned one elbow clumsily on the table, his head resting against his fist, and Victor could almost see the gears turning in Chris's head, trying to get this all figured out.

"But…but that's not….it can't…Grandpa?" he finally pleaded, his eyes begging his grandfather to give him a little enlightenment here.

Victor, who hated being in the hot seat, shifted nervously. "I, um…now, Chris, I know this is…this has to be…um…"

And Chris knew. His grandpa wouldn't be stuttering and getting all flustered if he didn't know those people; he'd have simply said it was a lie, that that man wasn't his…

And that's when it hit him; if that man, Wyatt…if he was his brother, then that meant…

His eyes widened to the size of silver dollars and his head shot up at his epiphany. He locked his gaze on the older man, standing awkwardly just inside the doorway. "Then…you'd be…" he started, barely mouthing the words.

The man smiled a bit nervously at first, but his grin broadened quickly and he came forward a bit hesitantly, not knowing if he was going to be yelled at, accused of lying…

"…my dad…" Chris finished, his lips barely moving, as thought announcing his findings would automatically render them invalid. This was so surreal; he was this close to getting up to look for the hidden camera's, but then he noticed; the man claiming to be…to be his father was close enough now for Chris to notice; he had green eyes, a light, jade green, just like his. Only the man's was currently filling with tears, causing the color to shine and waver.

"Oh god, Chris," he finally let go, coming forward and wrapping his arms around his son, holding him tight.

Chris sat there a moment, trying to get his head wrapped around all this. He thought…he would have expected it to be awkward and uncomfortable, being held by a complete stranger who you just learned was the father you never met. Yet, something…something about it felt right. Felt perfectly normal.

"God, Chris, you have no idea how much we've missed you." Leo breathed, barely holding it together. For a bit, he'd thought he'd lost his son for the second time in his life…

But Chris's mind was on something else…a thought that was nudging at his mind, unable to let him keep his mouth shut.

"Where…where's Mom?" he asked, the words feeling odd in his throat.

Wyatt and Leo both held still, perfectly still and tense. Leo pulled back, glancing from one son to the other, finally settling on Chris.

"That's, um…a long story…"

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"But…but I don't get it! Why…why would she…" Chris asked again, his voice small and distant. His grandpa sat on one side, his father on the other, with Wyatt close by in a chair he'd pulled up right beside the couch.

It had been hard to follow the conversation, with Wyatt and Leo constantly interrupting each other, trying to explain everything to Chris. And everything he'd learned was making Chris's head spin…a dream…his mother, having tea…him and his brother…his father…a potion…his cold…and now, them showing up at his door.

Wyatt shook his head slowly. "We…we don't know, Chris," he said gently. "I have no idea why Mom would do something like this…like we said, we thought…we thought you'd died! But apparently, she-"

"We shouldn't jump to conclusions," Chris said firmly, deeper in denial than he'd ever admit. "Maybe…maybe she just got confused, or…or…she was under a spell of something-"

"Chris, stop," Victor said quietly, resting a hand on Chris's back. "Chris, you know what happened when you were a baby; she just left you here, and never looked back. I don't know why, but I can guarantee you; it was no spell, and she knew exactly what she was doing." It killed Victor to have to tell that to Chris, but he had to; the truth was staring his plain in the face, and Chris couldn't keep lying to himself like this.

Chris shook his head slowly, keeping his eyes downcast so he wouldn't have to "hear" anymore of this. It…it just hurt too god damn much to think…he didn't even realize he was crying until he felt his father's arms around him, smoothing back his hair. He tried to stop, ashamed of breaking apart like this, but he couldn't. It was just too much to try to process.

He sensed Wyatt getting up and leaving the room for a moment; when he returned, he had a box of Kleenex in his hands, which he'd obviously found in the bathroom. Wordlessly, he handed it over to Chris, who took it gratefully.

"Thanks," he said softly, wiping quickly at his eyes. "I just…I just don't know what to say…"

Wyatt nodded. "Chris, I can't even imagine what this has to be like for you," he said understandingly.

"And I can't understand exactly what's going on here," Leo continued, referring of course to the situation between his wife and son. "But we're going to get this all figured out, I swear."

Chris nodded absently, still lost in thought.

"What I don't understand," Wyatt thought out loud, "Is why Aunt Paige and Aunt Phoebe seemed so much better at hiding it? Didn't you say they were there….that day…grandpa?"

Victor nodded, mulling around the same thought, but all Chris could think was, Aunts? He had Aunts?!

"I don't think they knew," Leo said finally. "Phoebe's the worst liar in the world, as she never acted around Chris like Piper did. She was always doting on you."

"So, what? She had them under her spell?" Wyatt retorted, not being able to help the slight laugh at how ridiculous that sounded. Yet, the more he thought about it, his aunts DID act differently about Chris's disappearance than his mother did; small children are good at picking up what adults often look over.

"Where is Piper?" Victor asked, having wondered all evening.

Leo shrugged. "I told her Wyatt and I were going out to a movie, spend some time together."

"And we'll probably have to head home soon," Wyatt said reluctantly, checking his watch.

"Do-do you have to?" Chris asked, knowing he had to have sounded pretty pathetic.

Leo wrapped his arm over his shoulder, "Yeah, I'm afraid so; she'll get suspicious if we're not back soon. But don't you think we're not coming back," he assured him. "How bout you, me and Wyatt go out to dinner tomorrow?"

Chris smiled a bit shyly, his usual bashful demeanor taking dominance again. "Yeah, it sounds great!" he said, already looking forward to it.

When they orbed out after both nearly squeezed Chris to death, he sat in silence for a moment,, with Victor beside him, before finally asking, "Why didn't you tell me?"

Victor sighed quietly, knowing this wasn't going to be easy. "Tell you what, exactly, Chris?"

"That it wasn't a spell, or magic or anything like that?" Chris clarified, his voice shaking slightly. "That she just up and left me?"

"Chris, I told you everything I knew," Victor said gently, choosing his words carefully. "I told you that she asked me to watch you for a while, and that she…she didn't come back."

Chris nodded slowly; he couldn't be angry with his grandpa; he didn't know what was going on in his mother's head.

"I…I think I'm going to go to bed," Chris said after a moment, then excused himself, locking his bedroom door behind him.

Victor had about as many thoughts running wild through his head, but he knew Chris needed some time alone, to try and sort things out.

He just prayed to God Piper didn't get involved again…

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Victor let Chris stay home from school again the next day, which he was grateful for. He felt better than he did yesterday, much better in fact, but he doubted he'd have been able to concentrate on his lessons at all. His mind was too busy drifting back to last night, and flash forwarding to this evening. Despite his father's promise, he couldn't help but worry that he and Wyatt wouldn't show up tonight.

When he voiced his worries to his grandfather, he simply took a long gulp of coffee. "When your parents first got married, I absolutely hated your father," he began slowly.

"You did?" Chris cocked one eyebrow. "Why?"

Victor shook his head, smiling reminiscently. "Oh, Chris; I hated White lighters. I was so happy for your mother, her marrying a "nice, normal" guy, that when I found out what he was? I was livid. But…through the next couple years, I had to admit, no matter what he was; he was a damned good father. He had his moments, of course, but…I wouldn't worry about tonight, Chris."

But Chris was a born worrier, and by noon he'd bitten his fingernails down to the quick and was continuously twirling his hair around his fingers, a thousand possibilities running through his head…

What if they don't show up?

What if they up and leave him?

What if he made a fool of himself at dinner?

But what was nagging at the back of his mind the most was what always worried him; no matter where he was going or who he was meeting; What happened?

He was good at hiding his problem; he had it fine-tuned to an art. But he had a feeling that he couldn't keep it secret from his father and brother. That is, if they didn't know already…he still couldn't remember a thing from his little expedition the other day.

By that evening, he'd actually calmed down; he'd worried everything he could possibly worry so much that he was actually starting to annoy himself. His Dad (and it still felt so weird to think that) and his brother had said they'd be here at 8- it was just before 7 now, and he was already ready. His grandpa laughed, saying he was more stressed out than a feminist at a strip club, but had let him be.

He had just started to wonder whether they would come to the door first or simply orb in when he saw Victor put down his paper and walk across the living room to open the door. He spoke for a moment to the guest, before stepping aside to let Leo and Wyatt inside.

I\It was hard for Chris to wrap his head around the fact that he and Wyatt were brothers. They didn't look anything alike; he was a head shorter than Wyatt, with dark hair and pale skin. Wyatt looked like a true California boy; sandy blonde curls flying every which way, sea blue eyes and tan skin. And he probably out weighed Chris by 30 pounds, at least.

"Hey little bro!" he greeted warmly, as though they hadn't been separated for 16 years. His father was more direct, immediately pulling him into a tight hug. He was sure he said something, but with his head pressed against his fathers shoulder, he had no idea what it was.

They made small talk for a few minutes, with Victor having the only question worth interest;

"How did you get away from Piper this evening?" he wanted to know.

Leo knew what he meant; 'Did she know where they were?'

"She, Phoebe and Paige are having some kind of girls night out," he explained. "They left the girls with a sitter across town."

Victor nodded, and Chris's mind jumped on the words 'girls'. "Girls meant his aunts kids; which meant cousins…God, his new found family just kept getting bigger…

"You ready?" he asked after finally pulling away. Chris smiled and nodded, said goodnight to Victor and the three left.

Chris might have been deaf in both ears, but he knew an awkward silence when he was in one, and boy was he in one. As the three walked down the hallway of the apartment complex, no one said a word. Wyatt pretended to be very interested in the random anonymous prints hanging in cheap frames on the walls, and Leo seemed rather busy looking for something in his coat pocket.

"So, um, where are we going?" Chris finally asked to break the ice.

"it's called 'Yellow". Yeah, I know' weird name!" he laughed, agreeing with Chris's face. "But it's got great food."

Chris nodded, again at a loss for what to say. There was so much he wanted to ask, so much he had to know, but his shy personality was keeping his tongue held still.

Once they got outside, Chris started walking towards the parking lot, but was redirected by Wyatt's hands, leading him behind a large row of Bridal Wreath bushes.

"What, you think we drove here?" he laughed good-naturedly. "Chris, we orbed. You, uh…you can orb, right?"

Chris felt his cheeks coloring. "Um, kinda sorta. My aim really sucks though…"

Wyatt nodded, understanding. "When I was nine I was orbing long distance for the first time and ended up in Fiji instead of Fresno."

Chris shook his head in sympathy. "I ended up in the girls locker room."

"And that was a bad thing?" Wyatt chuckled, to which Chris said solemnly;

"The only one in there was the PE coach."

"Ugh, yeah, ouch!" Wyatt agreed, and he spent several seconds trying to shake that mental image.

"Well, we'd better hurry!" Leo prompted. "Chris, you can side-along with me," he offered, taking Chris's hand.

It felt so much different, orbing along side someone rather than on his own accord. He felt himself dissolving from the outside rather than inside.

And just a split second later they were outside a large, classy-looking stone building with wrought-iron fencing and tinted lights.

Chris felt something twist in his stomach; this was a nice place, real nice, and 'real nice' usually meant expensive…

His musings were confirmed once they were seated inside; it was a very classy place, with gold-framed oils hanging on the scarlet colored walls and ivy vines crawling and snaking their way through the short wall dividers. Chris felt strangely underdressed in jeans and a green button-up, despite Wyatt not being much more formally dressed.

His sinking feeling only got worse when the waiter handed them each a menu; he didn't recognize anything, even the stuff that was in English, and…Holy crap, one item cost about as much as a week's worth of lunch.

It didn't take long for Wyatt to pick up on his little brother's worry; his empathy was fine tuned like symphony violin. Leaning over, he offered a few whispered words of advice;

"If you can't pronounce it, don't eat it," he suggested. "And don't get anything with the word "delicacy" in it." He paused, trying to gauge his brother's emotions without probing. "And don't worry about how much it costs, Chris' we wouldn't have came here if we were hurting for money"

Which, in Chris's eyes, was a nice way of saying, 'We can afford it'. And that caused his stomach to take another odd twist; he knew that his mother owned a chain of restaurants, from what his family had told him, so it made sense that they'd have a comfortable lifestyle…but it brought about more queer feelings…

Ever since yesterday, when his dad and brother had explained what his mother had done, how she'd reacted, it was like someone was ripping apart a perfectly painted piece of art, color by color. And to think that Piper Halliwell and the family she chose to keep could regularly afford to dine out at classy café's, while he and his grandpa had had to eat Ramen for days on end when he was younger caused something to jar uncomfortably in him…

"If it says "biftek" in it, it's some kind of steak," Wyatt offered, and Chris nodded gratefully.

After giving their orders to the waitress, the odd silence seemed to envelope their table once again. Chris didn't know where to begin, Leo wasn't sure he'd be able to shut up, and Wyatt couldn't decide how to word anything without sounding rude.

Chris ended up letting his mind drift as he studied one of the abstract paintings on the wall; smears of red and copper and tan accented with blots and dots of scarlet and vivid purple. He didn't care much for abstract, but it was fun sometimes to try and make corporeal pictures from it. It wasn't until he felt Leo shaking him to get his attention did he snap back to the table.

"Um, sorry," he mumbled. "I was just…distracted…"

Leo studied him for a moment, but nodded.

"So, um, Chris. You're a junior, right?" Chris nodded, hoping they'd get off the small talk soon. "Do you play any sports?"

Chris shook his head and snorted. "No! Uh, let's just say I'm not exactly very coordinated! Besides, I'm not allowed-" he immediately bit his tongue; he did NOT want to go there.

Wyatt cocked his head slightly. "Not allowed? You mean, Grandpa won't let you play?"

Chris shook his head slowly, intently studying the red vines on his place mat. "No, uh…the school won't let me play…'cause of my hearing…"

Judging by the lack of confusion in Wyatt's expression, Chris could only guess that he already knew. But Leo looked puzzled.

So Chris explained, in the Cliff's Notes version, about his 'issue', as quickly as he could, hoping the whole conversation could be dropped quickly. He hated talking about it.

Wyatt nodded silently, and Leo seemed to be chewing the inside of his cheek. Just as he opened his mouth to say something (most likely sympathetic, from the look in his eyes) their waitress arrived at their table carrying 3 plates and a basket of dinner rolls.

'Food's not all its cracked up to be,' Chris thought lamely, trying to discretely scrape a foul orange sauce off of his "biftek."

Once the awkward silences passed, Chris found himself relaxing in the company of his father and brother. After a while, the whole weirdness of the situation melted away, and the three were talking animatedly.

"I've got an idea," said Wyatt thickly around a mouthful of cake he'd ordered for desert. "Chris, why don't you come back to the manor with us for a while? There are some things we want to show you."

Chris's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth, threatening to spill chocolate mousse back into his bowl. "b-but….what if…"

"We already told you; Piper isn't home tonight," Leo said quietly, knowing Chris was reluctant to meet up with his mother, which twisted something painfully in his chest. From what Victor had said, he'd wanted nothing more than to meet his mother. And now, to learn that she intentionally abandoned him?

"Um, then…alright." He ventured, a hint of apprehension still persisting. But curiosity and excitement were more dominant…what did they want to show him?

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The Halliwell family home was beautiful; large, spacious with gleaming hardwood and sparkling stained glass and intricate carvings on the trim and doorways. Portraits, some dating farther back than a century, adorned the walls; presumably their ancestors. HIS ancestors. Their were also several new photographs; of Wyatt, of a gaggle of girls whom he guessed to be cousins, of his father, mother, of 2 other beautiful woman and their husbands…such a large, extended family, when all his life it had been just him and Grandpa…

"Come on, it's upstairs in the attic," Wyatt urged, eager to show Chris something. Even his father seemed to have an expectant gleam in his eyes.

The stairs up to the attic were narrow, so they had to go up in a line. As Chris stepped through the creaky door after his elder brother, he felt something odd, like Goosebumps, but not from cold or fright…but from something else…

It was obvious right away what Wyatt wanted to show him; though the attic was abound with clutter, from dressmakers dummies to rocking horses to anonymous cardboard boxes, it was all pushed aside, out of the way. The only things left inn the actual working part of the room was a long table with what looked like a cauldron and an assortment of bottles, and a podium by the window.

Wyatt went straight for the podium and lifted an enormous book from the metal platform. It was hundreds of pages thick with a handsome green cover and several pieces of paper and ribbon book marking it.

"C'mere!" he invited, setting himself down on a worn red couch. Chris sat down beside him, while Leo perched on the edge of the armrest. Chris carefully tucked his long hair behind his ears, taking a closer look. The book was old, extremely old, judging by the yellowed parchment pages and slightly scuffed corners. And emblazoned on the front was a symbol in red; 3 interlocking almond shapes, with a loop threading through them.

"What IS it?" Chris wanted to know.

"This is our entire family history, Chris," Speaking with a voice uncommon for the excitable man; his tone held a hint of awe, of reverence, and Chris knew this was a little more than an overgrown family tree.

"It's called the Book of Shadows, and it's been in our line for centuries," he went on, and opened the book, flipping fondly through their pages. "It has everything from the family tree to spells and potions to how to get your kids to mind you. Here," and he handed the book over into Chris's lap.

Chris felt almost like he was intruding as he carefully turned each page, like snooping through someone else's diary. He had to keep reminding himself that it was his too; he was a part of this family now.

He passed through pages on demons, far more extensive than the books n demonology he loved to read, though he noted with a bit of pride that the spells didn't look any more advanced than what he was already practicing. There were entries on ghosts, herbs and Wicca. He found ancient prophesies, notes…

"What happened here?" he asked, pointing to a page with a large X written in Sharpie through the face of a particularly gruesome demon.

"Oh, that's Aunt Phoebe's ex," Wyatt said casually, and Chris blanched, looking from Wyatt to his father.

Leo smiled warmly, "It's a long story, Chris!"

Smiling, he eagerly returned to the volume. Once he got over his initial nervousness, he felt almost a connection with the book, as though it were a link to all the family he'd never known…it was a comfort, almost.

"Oh, there's the family tree!" Wyatt pointed out, indicating a page much longer than the rest, which had been folded upon itself to fit.

Chris looked through it eagerly; it dated back to the witch trials, with a woman named Charlotte Warren. Down past Helena, Laura, Grace, Patricia…

"They're all women…" Chris noticed, cocking his head to one side.

"Yeah, you and Wyatt are the first men to be born a Halliwell in over 400 years," Leo told him. "And the only one's since."

"It's a woman's world in this family, little bro!" announced Wyatt wearily, and Chris chuckled, his eyes scanning the bottom of the tree.

"…I'm not on here…" he said, trying to keep his voice casual, though in truth, it dug at something deep within him…

Wyatt and Leo each looked closer at the tiny print under "Piper Halliwell- Leo Wyatt. Wyatt's name was listed clearly, as were all of their cousins, but…Chris was right. His name had been left off the tree.

"But I added it myself…" Leo said quietly, more to himself than to his sons.

"Mom must have erased it." Chris said, trying to sound uncaring and nonchalant, as though this sort of thing happened everyday. But his dad could see the hurt in his eyes.

"Chris, I, um," Leo started, unsure of what to say. "Listen, just be because your name isn't on here doesn't mean you aren't family."

Chris nodded silently, chewing on one of his nails. Then Wyatt suddenly snapped his head up, smiling and leapt from the couch.

"What're you doing?" Leo inquired suspiciously.

"Looking for a pen," came Wyatt's muffled voice as he rooted through a junk drawer. "I know we have a fountain pen around here- ah! There it is!" he exclaimed and rushed back to the couch, plopping down with a jubilant bounce. He took the book from Chris and set it in his lap, sucking on the tip of the pen before letting it hover over the page.

"When's your birthday, Chris? November 20th, right?" he checked, and had barely written out "C-h-r-" before a loud, carrying voice could be heard from across the attic;

"Wyatt Halliwell, you write one more letter and your name will be the next scratched off the family tree."

All three men, who just seconds before had begun to smile broadly at Wyatt's contagious effervescence, all snapped their heads around to the attic door.

And there, wearing evening-out clothes and a look to kill, was the one woman Chris never thought he'd hate to see…

"""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""""

Ah! I know, it's been too long! I hope y'all enjoyed this chapter as much as I did!

Coming up next chapter? Chris finally gives Piper what-for; be sure to tune in and REVIEW!!!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	10. Chapter 10

Oh God

Oh God.

I can not believe I went so long without updating TTRRH. I deserve to be fed to the raccoons. Seriously.

Do I even remember where I was going with this story? I think so…

Let's hope so.

"""

Piper Halliwell was like a tigress, standing there in the attic doorway. She wore a slim, calf length black skirt with a royal-blue blouse, adorned with sparkling embroidery around the neckline. Gold glittered at her throat and wrists, with a touch of makeup around her piercing eyes. Beautiful as the jungle cat, but looking every bit as lethal, as though her light lacquered nails could grow into claws with no more than a thought.

Chris had become quite talented at reading people by their body stature and expressions, and Piper, his mother, was looking at him in a way no woman should look at her own child.

A mother tiger finding an intruder in the den.

"I mean it Wyatt," she hissed at her eldest, who still sat stone-cold, the pen poised just an inch above the page. "Don't you dare."

Wyatt turned to look to his father, and Chris could see the turmoil marring his handsome face. This was his mother, after all, and Chris was sure he loved her. He had no reason not to. But then again, everything he knew about the woman had been challenged in the last two days. Everything he thought about his past, about his little brother, about his supposed death, Piper's mourning…All the pieces of his life thus far has shattered, the images breaking apart like a stained glass window and flying to the winds. Now he was left to sift through the pieces, to sort out the reality from the lies. how much of it was a sham? How many false words had his mother told him to sooth him?

Leo seemed to be as torn as Wyatt. His face seemed to age before Chris's eyes, his craggy but handsome face becoming tired and strained. Piper…what have you done?

And there was Chris, the cause of the hurricane, sitting between them, lost and unsure. His heart leapt at the first glimpse of the pretty woman, who Grandpa has always said he resembled. Then even his damaged ears could hear he shrill anger in her raised voice, and it chilled his bones, caused him to instinctively shrink back partially behind Wyatt. Wasn't this was big brothers were for, after all? Protection?

But no man should every have to protect his brother from their own mom.

Mom.

He could barely remember what that word even sounded like. Surely it was sweeter than the look he now had to compare it to.

"Mom, what are you doing?" Wyatt demanded, sitting straighter, higher, almost defiant in his posture. Chris automatically sat farther forward, to be able to follow their exchange.

"I'm protecting my family, Wyatt," she replied, speaking to the blonde but not taking her eyes off Chris. "I'm doing this for your own good."

Protecting…did she think Chris was a threat? He looked over his shoulder in disbelief, as though expecting his brother to have morphed into some disfigured, mutated, horrific beast that was about to devour him after shredding him to ribbons with razors. But no, it was only Chris, his thin, almost frail-looking baby brother. One whom his mother had led him to believe for years had been murdered.

She'd lied to him.

She'd lied to his father, to his aunts. She'd refuse to speak of Chris, of the day he disappeared. His little cousins knew nothing of Christopher Halliwell, except that he had been born and had died.

But that was falsehood.

Why would she base his entire childhood around a story? He tried to console himself, reminding himself that they had only assumed Chris had died because none of their searches had been fruitful, neither magical nor practical. So perhaps…

God no, you dumbass! Wyatt berated himself. Hello! He's been living with Grandpa! There was no kidnapping! He'd been raised happy and corn-fed in Colorado, just a little trot away from God-Knows-Where Kansas! He probably had no bigger threat to his life than a rogue cow!

But if he was alive…

And there was no kidnapping…

And what Chris said was true…

Then Piper HAD abandoned him. Just dumped him at Victor's.

But…why? Why in the name of God, any God, would Piper lie about something like this? Didn't Dad say she had mourned for him? Didn't she long for her son again, after he was gone?

He'd heard about mothers who abandoned their children. They were drug abuses, alcoholics, prostitutes. They'd learned all about it in school. They were poor, or abusive, or just plain mental.

That wasn't his mother. That wasn't Piper. She was kind hearted, if somewhat strict. She was clean, sober, and showered her family with love and affection, with delicious meals and her undivided attention. What reason would she have to simply dump her baby boy?

But Chris was alive and well. Why would he lie?

Why would Piper.

"You're protecting us, Mom?" Finally, Wyatt managed to find his voice, and somehow infused it with a defiance he rarely showed the woman who raised him. "Look at him, Mom! He's 17 years old! Probably doesn't weigh much more than you do! What sort of threat do you think he poses to us, eh? Think he's gonna orb a lamp at us or something?"

"Watch that smartass attitude, Wyatt," She warned. "You don't know what you're talking about."

With every word, Wyatt felt his temper flare all the higher. Chris watched, becoming increasingly distressed, as he rose, standing to his full height and tower above a petite Piper.

This whole damned thing was just overwhelming, and Chris felt lightheaded. He wasn't sure if it was from anxiety or a leftover from his "cold", but either way, he had the intense feeling of swaying on the ocean, and it made lip-reading extremely difficult.

"I don't know what I'm talking about?" countered Wyatt, disbelievingly. "Mom, I may not know what the hell has been going on around here the last, oh, 16 years, but I'm damn sure that whatever it is, involves Chris, and I think we have a damned good reason for you to spill!"

Piper's dark eyes narrowed dangerously, and Chris found it hard to swallow that such hollow, hate-filled eyes could ever look at someone with warmth and love, like they were in her picture.

Now he was just feeling bewildered…

A step forward. The eldest Charmed one, barely over 5 feet tall, seemed to have a looming aura, overshadowing even Wyatt. "Wyatt Matthew," she began, and Chris could imagine her tone low, condescending and thick with anger, "You're right; you DON'T know what's going on, you don't know what happened! But I do, Wyatt! I know everything! I know every lie he ever told, every trick he pulled and every single moment he spent trying to destroy everything we had!"

"Piper, what in Hell's name are you talking about?" It was Leo's turn to join the fray, leaving Chris alone on the worn, once-red couch, the Book of Shadows lying half in his lap, half slumped across the neighboring cushions. He rested his hand upon it, and it felt almost warm, like a heartbeat. His fingers brushed over the light texture of the parchment, over the hand-written names of so many relatives, all long-dead or believing he was so. But not once did his eyes leave his family around him.

"What am I talking about?" Chris could hear her shriek sharply, in the same booming voice she'd used to announce her entrance. "Leo, I'm talking about our family here!"

"Chris IS family!" he argued, gesturing to his youngest son, but Piper refused to even dignify him with so much as a disdainful glance.

"That boy," she hissed, "Is no family. He's no son of mine, after what he did!"

"What he did?" the angel cried incuriously, with both boys looking between their parents like a tennis tournament, hoping to hear and see answers to their confusion. "Piper, have you lost it completely? Chris SAVED this family, you know that!"

"I…saved…?" Chris surely had misunderstood, read wrong. He'd been a year old when his mother…when she…how could he have saved his family?

"Dad, what the hell do you mean, Chris sa-"

"Shut it, Wyatt!" Piper snapped, and was scolded by Leo insisting she not talk to her son like that.

"Leo, please!" she all but pleaded with her husband. "You just have to trust me! I know the truth; I know everything!" Wyatt took a step backwards unconsciously; his mother was rambling like she was insane and though Wyatt was loath to admit it, she was starting to frighten him a bit.

She'd completely lost it.

And Chris…well, Chris was just lost.

He must have been a burden…

That had to be it, he realized with heartache, starting to pick up less and less of the fight as his mind wandered. Logic told him that he had been only a baby, and couldn't have done any of the things his mother was accusing him off, the lying, the trickery…but surely he must have been a nuisance. After all, what other reason would she have to…

To abandon him.

The minute he admitted this to himself, he could feel his heart breaking, and with it, every hope he'd harbored since his childhood shattered as well. Perhaps he had never been given the chance to lie to his family, but he'd lied to himself. He should have known, deep down, that Mo- no, Piper, had never wanted him. That she was never going to come back for him. He felt like a grand fool! Who did he think he was kidding, with all those childish fantasies of his mother simply showing back up one day, arms open wide to embrace him after all those years? Did he really believe he would one day run into her arms, that she would hold him close like he'd see families do on television?

Life wasn't a fairy tale. It wasn't a happy-ending sitcom, with drama and misunderstandings throughout the day, but everyone coming together after it was all through, as though no feelings had been hurt, no pride wounded.

It only took naive him 17 years to figure that out.

"Piper, what're you-" and Chris looked up suddenly, pulled from his thoughts as a shadow loomed before him.

Piper stood right before him. She had her arms crossed in front of her chest, glaring down her nose at him.

"Christopher…" she said his name with repulsion, as though the taste of the word on her tongue were as vile and bitter as cough medicine. "I gave you that name because that's what I was told you were called."

Chris furrowed his brow, not understanding. "What do you-"

"It means "Christ Bearer," She continued, dismissing him as though he have never spoke. "A holy name, a pure and Godly name…and one I should never have given you. There is nothing holy or pure about you, Chris! I don't care what sort of façade you've pulled for your father and brother or that pathetic pushover of a grandpa, but I'm not fooled. I've seen what you really are, down to your black heart!"

Chris swallowed thickly, pressing himself into the back of the couch, trembling as though seeing the very gates of Hell. And in a sense he was; after all, what was Hell but the complete absence of all hope?

He had no more hope. Everything he every hoped for was a mistake, the proof screaming at him.

"I loved you once," she continued, almost haughtily, as though dangling the fact that he had once been wanted. "I tried to be a good mother to you; I wanted to be! When you first came to me and I knew who you were, I wanted to just hold you, to take away all that had ever hurt you, everything that had made who you were. I gave so much to make sure you were safe, and what do I get? The knowledge that you'd lied your ass off to us!"

She continued on in the same thread, and distantly Chris knew that her voice was being matched by Wyatt and Leo's, but he didn't hear. He hadn't heard anything past "I tried to be a good mother to you…"

He almost had to laugh at that one. He might as well; everyone else was loosing their minds tonight.

"A good mother?" he was sure his voice was barely more than a whisper; it didn't even tickle his throat. Yet Piper's ranting stopped, as though mildly interested in what he would have to say, perhaps hoping to see that he words had cut him as deeply as she seemed to be trying. Even the two other men in the room had fallen silent.

"You…you tried to be a good mother to me?" he went on, finally raising his eyes to match Piper's; he could vaguely see himself reflected in their shine, just a shadowy silhouette. He sniggered softly, more to himself than anyone. "That's funny. Because last time I checked, good mother's raised their children. They loved them, took care of them, made sure they were warm and well. As far as I recall, I can't remember you being around to do any of those things for me. That was grandpa."

"I told you," he saw Piper reply through gritted teeth. "I tried, once, until-"

"Until what? I was only a baby!" now he was feeling braver, more daring, and he quickly jumped to his feet, forcing Piper to stumble in her attempt to avoid running right into him. "What did I do, eh? Cry too loud at night? Get sick too often?" He didn't expect her to answer of course which was fine. He wasn't looking for answers for rhetorical questions; he was on a roll now, anger and resentment filling him rapidly. He wasn't sure how he could feel such sudden hatred for a woman he had, until tonight, spent his whole life dreaming about…

Maybe he'd always felt a seed of resentment, deep down. Perhaps he had just buried it beneath false hopes, self-assurances and dreams. And now, it had finally sprouted, dug its way to the surface and had exploded, years of repression fueling it, causing Chris, who was usually quite reserved and quiet to start yelling at a woman he should revere.

"Where were you, eh?" he demanded, stepping forward one foot at a time, pushing Piper farther and farther backwards. "You seem to have a nice little family here. Wyatt says you own a restaurant. A few, actually. So I bet you've never been hurting for money./ Never had to live off Ramen and canned ravioli. I bet your nieces and whatever never had to shop at Goodwill. Probably never had used anything, did they?"

"Chris, calm down now," Wyatt head Leo say, and started forward as though to try to break this up. But Wyatt held out his arm, blocking his path.

"Don't," he advised, eyes locked on the drama unfolding before him, though his face was stoic. "I think…he needs to do this…"

Leo wanted to argue, instinctively wishing to protect both his son and his wife. Unfortunately, they were currently threats only to each other.

"What, no answer?" Chris egged on, "I thought you said you knew everything?"

"About you, Chris!" she yelled back, becoming once more the tigress. "I know everything about you!"

"Oh, that's rich!" Chris snorted, coupling it with a sneer. "You know everything about me? Tell me; what grade am I in?" When silence was the only answer to even this simple question, he took it as permission to continue. "Where do I live? What's my favorite subject? What's the matter, mother dearest, can't answer? Because you don't know me! You don't know anything about me! Because you. Weren't. There."

Piper was starting to look nervous, and kept shooting nervous looks to the door.

'It would be so easy to stop him,' Wyatt thought. 'She could blow him up; he's half Whitelighter, it would just slow him down so she could bolt.' But her hands remained pinned firmly at her sides, twitching, flexing, but not once did she move to fire.

"Where were you?" he demanded once more, fire lighting behind his green eyes. "Where were you when Grandpa and I were barely making ends meet? When I was seven, and my teacher called social services on him? Huh? Where were you all the days I would come home crying because everyone was picking on me again? Where were you when I had the flu, when I had my tonsils out, when I fell off the slide at recess and got a concussion?"

And still piper's lips remained in a firm, unmoving line. Her posture still stood tall and proud, shoulders back, but her face was faltering, her eyes widening slightly as she began to realize Chris wasn't about to just let her go.

Wyatt should be helping her. Perhaps Leo, too. But neither moved to her aid. They, too, wanted answers.

Chris couldn't have stopped now even if he wanted. He was like a locomotive, running on full steam. And like a train, he knew he would have to stop eventually, but he wasn't thinking that far ahead.

"Where were you when I made the school play? I'm damn sure you weren't cheering for me in the audience! Did you ever just skip on Wyatt, even for little things? I bet you were always there on parent's night for him!" And he paused, trying to catch his breath. He was panting, red in the face from his screams. He was actually quiet, for a moment, and no one in the room seemed to even blink, as though fearing he would loose all inhibitions and actually pounce on the woman who gave birth to him.

Instead, he just took one final step forward, and lowering his voice below his ability to hear, murmured, "Where were you when I was 13 and my entire world went silent?"

Piper looked away, starring directly by Chris's arm, as though suddenly too angry or too ashamed to meet his eye.

But Wyatt could, and he could see them redden, see them blink as Chris fought to hold back tears; he'd let everything else go tonight, and it seemed he wasn't ready to break down completely.

"Where were you, Mom, when I was in so much pain that I'd lie awake all night in the hospital, clinging to grandpa and just crying myself to sleep somewhere around 4 am? Where you out with your family? Maybe going to a movie? Did you ever even think about me?"

"Of course I did!" she snapped, finally locking gazes with him. "Every damned day! Sometimes I thought about how we were a family once, how I use to be happy around you , love you. Then I just have to remember…" She trailed off, still refusing to finish that one sentence.

With a soft shake of his head, Chris suddenly turned on his heel, storming across the attic floorboards to the doorway.

"Chris, wait!" Wyatt called, rushing forward towards his brother. Damn it! He went too long without him; he wasn't about to just let him walk out the door again! "Please…"

"There isn't anything to talk about, Wyatt," he whispered; the soft hush of voice sounded so different in contrast to the yelling that had been rattling the stained glass windows. He reached out, taking Wyatt's hand for only a brief second and giving it a squeeze. He turned to face over his shoulder, eyes narrowing and sharp as a steel blade. "I'm deaf, not dim. I think Piper had made it more than clear that I'm not welcome here. She said it herself; I'm no son of hers." And without another word, he slid noiselessly from the attic, gliding down the stairs with a grace and dignity no one in this situation should possess.

And within seconds, he was gone.

Leo stood stock still, eyes fixed on Piper, who seemed to be completely apathetic to the whole situation. Thousands of questions were all buzzing around in his over-taxed mind, and he simply didn't have to current ability to articulate them.

Not that Piper would answer. He had the feeling that he didn't know his wife half as well as he thought.

Wyatt, on the other hand, took only a beat before he was on the move, starting out the door to follow Chris-

"Wyatt Matthew Halliwell!" Piper yelled, her statuesque face contorting in outrage. "You take one more step outside that door to go after him, and you won't be welcome back in again!"

He stopped, one hand on the doorjamb, paused in mid-stride. He seemed to hesitate for a minute, blue orbs filling with an internal argument, before his shoulders sagged, seemingly defeated, and he trod back into the attic. Leo felt his heart sink, seeing the way Wyatt turned his back to his brother…if only he knew how much Chris had sacrificed just for him…

The eldest sister puffed up even prouder, and relaxed herself as Wyatt drew nearer, ready to embrace her real son, to reassure him after this entire drama…

But he stormed right past her. Bewildered, Piper spun on a dime, following his actions as he made his way purposefully back to the sofa, picking up the Book and the long-discarded pen. He graced her with one hardened look before lowering the pen to the parchment and scrawling the name Christopher Perry Halliwell in a quick yet tidy scrawl.

His parents stood back, Piper too shocked and outraged to even close her gaping jaw, and Leo unsure whether to be proud or panicking.

"Well then, Mom, if that's how you want to play," he said, setting the Book down with the reverence it deserved, the new ink glistening in the moonlight like a beacon, mocking his mother. "Just remember. A child with no parents is an orphan. A woman with a dead husband in a widow, but there is no word for a mother with no more children."

He left, then, leaving the attic to his back as he stepped from the room, slamming the door behind him forcefully, satisfied with the loud bang of finality it caused, well aware that it may be isolating him permanently from much more than just an attic.

"""""

Wow…can't believe I got this chapter done so fast! Er…I meant since I started it 4 days ago…

This is…an odd chapter, I know. You get so much drama but STILL no answers! Tell me…do you want answers…?

Then please leave a review!

Lottsa love,

LLC


	11. Chapter 11

Well, I've been in a Code Geass groove recently; bad, bad LLC, I know. But I'm back, with a new episode of TTRRH!

I wonder if any of my original readers are still here…? I published this so long ago…over 3 years! Holy macaroni!

Ok, this is a short chapter. Really too damned short, actually, but don't feel too cheated, because next chapter? All the answers you could ever want.

Well, let's get started, then!

CPH

People had the misconception that California was all warmth and sunshine, Chris included. Coming from the base of the Colorado Rockies, where it was just as likely to snow in May as it was January, he'd envisioned the West Coast as a place that never dipped below 70 degrees. Unfortunately, he'd failed to realize that San Francisco was a little farther north than he bargained for.

He walked brusquely down the sidewalks of the Prescott Street neighborhood, both to put as much distance between him and the scarlet Victorian manor and also to try to keep war,. It wasn't the "see your breath" sort of cold. There really wasn't any wind either. It was the damp, seep-through-your-clothes sort of chill that took a while to hit and a while to leave.

Chris wasn't sure whether he was enjoying the cold or not. It was sharp enough to sting, sharp enough to keep his mind going, so he was somewhat grateful.

And she sure as hell wasn't feeling much warmer on the inside.

Such sharp words, such loud words; he heard each and every thing she spat at him, wishing so desperately that she had hissed them inaudibly instead. For all that he craved voice and sound, he regretted her voice ever having reaching his ears, lodging in his mind and replaying like a broken record, looping one after another.

A highly populated area, the sidewalks all had streetlights, wrought iron ones with curved shades, keeping with the historical feel of the neighborhood. Ordinarily, he would have admired the late-century architecture, the gingerbread molding, plantation shudders and sweeping lawns, but now, he could be walking through a ghetto or a ransacked trailer park for all he noticed.

What did it matter to him if he was miserable in paradise or purgatory?

He wanted to go home. Grandpa would be worried if he was much longer; he said he'd probably be out late, which Victor more than understood, but even so…he didn't even have a watch on him. He couldn't even gauge how long he'd been walking.

Eventually, the houses became somewhat smaller, more modest, a little farther apart, and as he curved a corner, he came to a wide, sparsely lit park. Chris stopped, cocking his head to one side.

It was a large park, with a cream-painted swing set, an old-fashioned push marry-go-round, several teeter-totters with furrows ground under them and a bright jungle gym. Several yards away was a more adult-oriented setting, with white plank picnic tables set in the shade of towering oaks, probably over a hundred years old, at least.

That side was lit with a handful of streetlights made to look like old gas lamps, maybe a half dozen or so. Hardly enough light to do anything useful by, but it had the soft glow of candlesticks or a fireplace, creating soft but cavernous shadows, looking so deceivingly pleasant to walk into, waiting to swallow you whole in a velvet embrace.

Sounded like a fine idea.

The damp grass sprung under his sneakers as he trod across it to the swing set, finding one on the end that some disobedient snot had flung hard enough to wrap it around the top bar twice, making it just the perfect height for a near-adult like Chris.

Weary, suddenly feeling every one of those steps, he lowered himself onto the plank, grasping the thick rusting chains in his hands facing the far side of the park. After an expanse of open grass before him, which opened farther to his right into a broad field, there was a veritable forest of trees, all heavily boughed. Though bare of leaves, the branches were so heavily entwined that they formed their own canopy of faux foliage, nests and archways. It was close enough to fling a Frisbee, close enough for the weak edges of lamplight to drag the foremost rows of trees from hiding, staining their bark amber. These shadows were sharp, harsh, made jagged by the angles of the bark, of the twisted limbs. Not velvet; blades.

Such a jarring division of safety and fear, and it truly was unsettling. So much darkness, so little light; God knows who, or what would be hiding behind the broad trunks, or just outside the read of lamplight. Someone could be standing with their toes on the border, an inch out of sight and he would have no idea.

He shivered, and not from cold, and began idly pushing himself back and forth on the swing, shoes digging into the dip below.

It was a little calming, the slow, repetitive motion. Like being on a boat, he would imagine, as he had never actually been on one. Each swing took him closer to that foreboding cluster of trees, before gravity dragged him back towards the light. He was taunting the darkness, flirting with it's edges, swinging his feet out to propel him forward, before immediately dragging them under him again, out of reach of the void, as though a part of hi did have a childish fear that some smoky tendril could grab his ankle and drag him back to the tress. And why not? He'd seen demons; they weren't the most sunny of fellows.

And yet, inner demons were even darker.

He could almost forget about Piper, and the real evils of the world, sitting their contemplating the devils of his overactive imagination. The monster under the bed had less teeth, his talons were trimmed in comparison. In fact, he'd almost been able to slip into his own state of mind when suddenly, something jerked him back into reality.

No, literally, jerked. Something grabbed his swing by one chain as he was coasting forward, causing it to lurch and nearly fling him onto the grass below as it returned helter-skelter to a vertical state.

Right hand immediately clenched into a fist, he turned, ready to land a blow at some mugger; luckily, the poor lamplight was just enough to recognize a familiar face, framed by blonde, wild curls.

"Wyatt," he said, not registering surprise, nor shock. He was pretty sure that nothing could surprise him after tonight. Mad raging clowns could crawl out of the sewers carrying Papillion's and he wouldn't bat an eye.

"Chris…"Wyatt sighed, and then was silent, mouth still open, as though hoping for words to just flow out in a perfect order.

"What?" the younger deadpanned over his shoulder. "You're going to search for some comforting words of wisdom? Going to copy some crap you remember from a Brady Bunch episode?"

Wyatt looked rather like he'd swallowed a lemon whole, but again, Chris felt only the slightest twinge of guilt. He was not usually like this, so apathetic, but after getting told by his own mother that he was evil and unwanted, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"N-no," Wyatt finally pulled himself together, still a little taken aback. "I just…ok, ya know what? I'm not even gonna try to sound all comforting." And he sunk down into the swing next to Chris's, forearms resting on his knees. "Because I'm about as lost as you are right now."

"I'm not lost…" Chris mumbled, suddenly finding the small rip forming in his jeans very interesting.

"You're a bad liar," his brother pointed out gently, and began to propel the swing back and forth slightly, the toe of his sneakers digging into the dirt below him.

Chris just 'hmm'ed, keeping Wyatt in the corner of his eye, though he really wanted to just shut them complexly and pretend he wasn't there.

"Chris…I don't know what the hell happened," he began awkwardly, obviously not one of the "heart on his sleeve" types.

Chris snorted ironically. "Well, let me fill you in. YOUR mother just tossed me out of your house."

Wyatt couldn't help but wince at Chris's choice of possessives. "Chris, she's OUR mother," he reminded him, as though it was an easily forgettable fact.

"Not according to her," came the grumbled response, and Chris was slouched further and further down. "According to her, I'm little more than the son of Satan."

"Well then she should remember who gave birth to you in the first place," he said, and his temper was starting to flare, both at the memory of Piper's scathing words and seeing the way they were cutting into Chris. His head, though still facing him to see, was hung low, his shoulders hunched, looking like the world's favorite kicked puppy.

"You calling your own mom a devil?" he cocked one eyebrow, mildly surprised, and Wyatt nodded.

"Yes. I mean…that wasn't my mo. OUR mom. That wasn't the Piper I know."

"Well it's the only one I met, and forgive me, but she didn't exactly live up to my lifelong expectations. If you've got another one stowed away in the basement, I'd be thrilled to meet her."

Wyatt fell silent, still propelling to and fro lazily, watching his long shadow moving before him beside Chris's. It was still too cold for bugs and crickets to be out, far too early for that, and far too late in the evening for children to still be at the part, or anyone else for that matter, so it was completely silent, the only noise coming from the chains on Chris's swing squeaking, in desperate need for a can of oil.

"What did I do, Wyatt?"

"W-what?"

Finally, Chris turned to look directly at him, the lamplight creating dark shadows across the planes of his face, making them seem deep, harsh and hollow.

"What did I do? Do you remember?"

Wyatt stopped his swing on a dime, his own chains creaking in protest.

"Chris…you were a freaking year old! What the hell could you have done?" he wanted to know.

A shrug was his response, despondent. "I dunno. I just figured…I must have done something pretty damn bad, for her to hate me so much."

"Chris, quit going all emo on me," he tried to joke, but it seemed as though this was the wrong time to try to make jokes, even ones meant to lighten up a depressing situation such as this.

"Listen, Chris…" he started a little awkwardly. "I…I don't know what the hell happened back there. And that takes a lot for me to admit, because I like being right! But…whatever the hell issues she has with you, it's all in her own head, because there is nothing a one year old baby could have done to warrant THAT."

A solemn shake of the head. "But Wyatt…she's not crazy. Well, I personally think she acts like a mad woman, but…if she had mental issues that fucked up, don't you think someone else would have noticed by now?"

"Well, maybe not…" Wyatt tried and failed to sound convincing. "I mean…maybe she's possessed? Maybe she's….I dunno, under some kind of spell?"

"And shouldn't the world's most powerful witch be able to sense that?" Chris wanted to know, and had to admit his voice was probably a little scathing. He could all but feel the spite in his mouth.

Again, Wyatt couldn't think of much to say about that. He had a point; Wyatt would be able to sense any sort of demonic mumbo-jumbo going on in the house. But…it just seemed like such a better possibility than pure hate. Even illogical possibilities would be better than the cold, hard truth.

And silently, as though able to read his mind, Chris replied,

"I know you could. I know you'd be able to tell me if she was turning all magically dark side. But ya know? It would be nice, wouldn't it? Then we could just wave our magic wands and make all our troubles go away, right? If only being a witch was really that easy." And he leapt to his feet, so fast that the swing started to jerk side-to side as he walked away, one chain going forward as the other yanked it back again. Hands deep in his pockets, he started striding away, head down still, as though he couldn't care less where he was going, not realizing that he was in the middle of a large city in the middle of the night.

"Chris!" Wyatt called after him, and wasn't surprised when he didn't turn around. So he copied his little brother, shooting from his swing like a shot, yelling out louder, "Chris! Wait!"

Finally, he paused, looking over his shoulder as though he really didn't care to hear what Wyatt had to say.

But Wyatt cared, and not just because he liked to talk.

"Chris, wait up. Where are you going?"

"I dunno," he admitted, wondering for a moment if he should attempt to orb home, wondering how far from Colorado he'd end up. "Just…away."

"But...but Chris!" and he grabbed for his arm as he began to stride away again, bearing through the glare that those green eyes shot his way.

"I do not want to talk right now Wyatt," he informed him dangerously, as though he could inflict any damage on his brother, even if he was pissed as hell.

"Listen to me, will ya? I just thought of something!"

"Oh? What? Some magic potion to make this all better again?"

"Yes, actually!" he affirmed, the tiny spark that sent him out of his seat suddenly taking aflame like a wild fire. "Chris…I just thought…I can't "wave a wand" and make this all better; magic doesn't work that way and you know it. But…but it can at least tell us why! Maybe…I dunno, maybe I can write some kinda half-assed spell to let us into Mom's head or something!"

Chris paused, appraising the elder of the two with critical eyes, as though expecting him too to start spewing angry words. It sounded…far fetched at best, and complete lunacy at worst, and yet…it was tempting…

"Ok…" he said after a beat. "You have my attention."

CPH

…

Told you it was short. But…I hope you enjoyed this little bit all the same.

Lottsa love,

LLC


	12. Chapter 12

…It's been 6 years since I started this story. Three since I updated. Going back to reread the past chapters, it's amazing how far I've come. I get extreme flashes of embarrassment going back and reading some chapters, authors notes…however, I know this story was much loved when it came out. I think this is primarily because of Chris angst, and me having a first-hand knowledge of what Chris fans like. I can say nothing for the quality of the story till now, but I hope that these last three or four chapters can show a great improvement.

)o(

To return to the manor was far too great a danger that night. They had no way of knowing if their mother was still in the midst of her manic rage, and neither was too willing to venture home to check. Surely by now she was at least calming, with the object of her repulsion far away from her, but having Wyatt go after him couldn't have been any comfort to the witch.

Instead, Chris offered up his own home for this adventure in brotherly spell-casting. All it took was an address, and Wyatt new instinctively where to orb them. It impressed Chris, really; this power was one so overwhelming to him. It sounded so simple; close your eyes and be anywhere you want to be, but in reality, it was more like, close your eyes and hope you end up where you were intending. So to see Wyatt flit them so effortlessly into a state, a house that he had never even seen before was remarkable, and actually intimidated the younger Halliwell a bit.

As the fluttering white lights faded into the darkness of the living room, Chris felt another not so pleasant emotion, one he was reluctant to label as shame, but…the family manor in San Francisco was towering, a beautifully preserved example of high Victorian architecture and taste. Compared to the glistening stained glass, hand carved crown molding and sprawling floor plan, the cramped apartment he'd grown up in seemed lackluster and grimy.

Immediately, he shuttled Wyatt into his bedroom, not wanting him to see the second-hand furniture that adorned their home. His bedroom really wasn't any more impressive or luxe, but at least in there he could blame the lack of wealth on personal taste.

For his part, though, Wyatt didn't seem to notice the worn carpet with orange juice stains, or the aphgans tossed on the backs of chairs to hide the holes. How could he give a rats ass about décor when his baby brother was sitting just a foot away from him on the same bed?

Raised in a richly magical environment, by women intoned with the laws of nature, destiny and revelation, he was able to easily slip into the role of brother. The closeness might not be there yet, for really, he didn't know this young man, but blood called to blood, and the pull was undeniable. He wondered if Chris could feel it to? He sat so stiff, so unsure, the shiny, pretty newness evaporating and leaving doubt and awkwardness in its wake.

Of course, he was sure their mom's recent conniption fit in the attic wasn't helping to ease him into the family.

"Chris…listen. I don't know what happened back there, with Mom…but I want you to try and understand, that wasn't Piper. I don't know who that was, but I've never seen her like that before. She always loved you…"

Chris was sitting uncomfortably as he 'listened' to his brother. He couldn't blame him for this compulsive need to defend her behavior; where Chris only had a fantasy to cling to for 16 years, Wyatt had a lifetime of love, security and kindness to compare this fit to. Perhaps this explosion of hatred WAS truly out of character for Piper Halliwell, but why would it matter to Chris? It made no difference what she was like last week, or last decade. All he had was that one experience.

Wyatt continued. "I mean it, Chris. That…that scared me, actually, and I don't scare easy. Even Dad seemed unsure what was going on. I bet he's going right now to go check with the Elders!" he chuckled, but it was fleeting as it was instantly obvious Chris didn't get the family in-joke. "A-anyway…we're going to figure it out, ok? Something happened when you were a baby, and I'm stil not convinced Piper's been acting on her own impulses. I promise we'll fix this."

Chris was quiet, looking away the moment it was safe to without missing words. He crossed his now seemingly tiny room to rummage through his desk. In the middle drawer he withdrew a plain, blue notebook; his spellbook. He felt more embarrassed at the half-assed magical rhymes contained in these pages than anything else in the house, so he hurriedly flipped the first blank page before handing it to his brother, ballpoint pen contained in the spiral.

Wyatt could easily sense that Chris wasn't up for excuses for his mother's scathing, hurtful words. He wanted an answer, not defenses. Hell, that's what he deserved, even. To know why Piper had left him…Wyatt felt he deserved to know too. A small seed of resentment had already started to grow roots in his emotions, feeling the unfairness of being lied to his whole life, being told his little brother he barely remembered was long dead at the hands of demons…were his aunts behind this too? Father? He doubted it, and hoped that doubt wasn't just wistful thinking.

He tapped the pen against the blank paper for only a few moments before words came to him. He scribbled furiously over the pages, minding his penmanship only enough to be legible.

Behind him sat Chris, watching with an almost hungry gaze as he wrote. His own spells were adequate, but his was a witchcraft practiced with a spice rack on his bedroom floor. He could transport himself, float object around his room, and locate his missing things, but he'd never written a spell for anything so adventurous.

Wyatt, however, had been raised in a home steeped in magic, and it was no surprise to Chris that he knew how to construct a spell. However, it seemed to be a very stiff, formal sort of construction. He wasn't sure if that was how it worked best, but Wyatt's words were very plain, to the point and seemed to have very little room for creative license. Perhaps his own superfluous writing and thesaurus abuse in his own spells weakened their effectiveness for something as powerful as what they were going to attempt, but they worked, and he felt they had a lovely ring to them.

Several times Wyatt began a spell only to cross it out as a failure, though he noted that each new attempt carried some hint of the previously rejected line. It was evolving with each new beginning, a process Chris found fascinating.

"This is…going to be safe, right?" Chris asked, seeing the words before him and realizing how treacherous a tri this could be.

Wyatt waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, sure. I've been on excursions like this with the aunts. Trust me; once you've time traveled, making yourself an observer into someone's thoughts is a bake sale."

Time travel! And he spoke of it so casually! Chris shook his head to clear it, focusing instead on the spell being borne from his pen.

Finally Wyatt capped the pen with a flourish and drew his knees up to sit crosslegged, as Chris was.

"You ready little brother?" he grinned, tearing the page from the perforated notebook.

Chris opened his mouth to affirm he was, but not without effort. WAS he ready? Just days ago he'd been casting a spell he didn't remember casting, meeting a brother he didn't remember meeting. He'd been normal, hungry to know his family, but without this new knowledge that he'd been unwanted. Now here he was, with aforementioned brother, getting ready to cast a spell to relive his bitch mother's memories.

How did one mentally prepare for something like that?

"I…spose I am. As much as I'll ever be."

Wyatt took that as confidence. Or at least as much as his nerve-shaken brother could produce at the time. He turned to wrap his arm around his thin shoulders, and held the page before them, where they could both see. Hearts pounding, especially Chris's they began to recite.

)o(

Spinning and whirling and lights flickering past his closed eyes, flashes of brilliance reduced to a fireworks display through clenched eyelids. The dizzying thrum of magic surrounded the pair, warm and wrapping yet terrifying all in the one instant it took to cast the spell. Chris half expected to open his eyes and find himself in the land of Oz, little witchy munchkins scurrying about their feet. Perhaps with a house crushing them. It could happen.

Instead, they "landed" without much fanfare. No jolting stop, no jerking motions. They were just sort of…there.

Wherever there was.

Wyatt instantly recognized the attic, and Chris's own few memories placed it soon enough. It looked…different though. It was still full of junk, but it was different junk. The same rusted bedframe was there, and the same books that no one ever read, but everything else seemed out of place.

This wasn't what Chris noticed though. He had nothing to compare to. The attic, despite being a spiritual hub for the Halliwells, was only a vague image in his mind. Besides, he was far too entranced by a far, blank wall.

It was a plain wall. Had some trunks stacked up near it, a dressmakers dummy to one side, butother than that…it was just a wall. Still, there was something about it that seemed to draw him near, and he couldn't break his gazed away from the dusty planks. It drew him, captivated him.

While Chris was so enamored by a wall, Wyatt had his own images to be connected to. Beyond the odd arrangement of family cast off's, there was something in the musty, dust filled room that was even stranger.

There was his aunt Phoebe, and his aunt Paige…red headed. Aunt Paige hadn't been red since he was in middle school, and that was cherry. This was more of a Weasley orange…but worse than that, it just…wasn't his aunt Paige. Just as that aunt Phoebe just wasn't his aunt Phoebe. Or rather, not as he knew them. They looked so…smooth faced. Undyed. YOUNG.

He heard them speaking, but for some reason their words didn't seem to be reaching his ears. Something about Greek gods, about heat waves, but it wasn't settling into his mind. It was like when he'd drift away in History class, where he knew vaguely what was being discussed, but it carried no weight, and he couldn't focus.

"Chris? Are you seeing this?" he tapped his brother on the shoulder. Still, Chris's attention was somewhere else, still seemed to be frozen on that far wall, as though expecting it to open into Narnia at any moment.

Sluggish. Dazed. That's how they both felt. It was a feeling unlike anything that Wyatt had felt before, no matter where in magical time he'd been. If he had to pinpoint it, it was like being in a pool of water. Crystal clear, perfectly still, but insolated, suffocating.

It dulled the senses. Eventually it seemed even Chris was noticing how out of place he was feeling. He tore his eyes away from that mystical wall long enough to look around, and move a step closer to his brother.

"Wyatt…we're back at the manor, aren't we?"

The blond nodded slowly, and he too moved closer to Chris, almost protectively. "But it's not right, Chris. This isn't…just look at Paige, and Phoebe…they barely look older than us."

Chris nodded vaguely, but turned his attention away again the moment things got…weirder.

Wyatt supposed he should have been shocked and surprised, seeing a woman appear in a whirlwind in the attic. Any other time in his life he'd have leapt into fighting witch action and spell casted her ass, but now he seemed only vaguely concerned as powers flew and flung across the room, seeming to skin right past and through them but not touching, never scarring.

He hated this heavy, detached feeling. This was his family, his loved ones! How could he feel so uncaring as he watched his aunts fighting this thing?

Perhaps it was the knowledge that this was obviously the past. Something that had happened, something that didn't effect him…

No, no…nothing seemed to unsettle him until that wall of Chris's? Finally DID open.

A flash of blue light, and suddenly everything seemed to truly come into focus as a man came flying full sprint through the wall. Tall, thin, with long dark hair…he was about 5 years older, perhaps even less, but neither brother could mistake that it was Chris they saw joining the fray.

)o(

"I'm Chris…Chris Perry. I'm…from the future."

That was him. Those were his eyes, his build, his ways of walking, moving and speaking. It unsettled Chris, at a completely core level. This…this wasn't conjuring up a light show to put him to sleep at night. It was [ranking his teachers a la Matilda with moving chalk. No, this was a magic far beyond what he could understand. And it chilled him.

"Wyatt…what am I doing here? I mean, there…in this time…I'm not that old!" his thoughts ran wild, trying to find a way to make this make sense.

According to Wyatt, and what he saw, they were in the past, their aunts being so young…but that couldn't be. That didn't make sense, to either of them. That was Chris. There was no one else it COULD be. He was older, yes, but it was him. Perry…that was Chris's middle name.

And seemingly at the same time, both brothers seemed to finally realize what this...other Chris had just said.

"The…future?" Wyatt stammered, looking between the two men before him. "You…you're a time traveler?"

"I don't remember that…" Chris murmured, still dazed.

"No, you wouldn't. You haven't done it yet." Wyatt said, remarking on his age.

"But apparently I have."

"He has, but you haven't. You will. I guess."

"But he's me…"

Silence fell between the two, both tryong to ward off the overwhelming confusion of the situation.

"Let's get this straight," Wyatt began, taking a deep breath. "We decided to go back into Piper's, mother's, memories…and we went to the past. Where a future version of yourself has just arrived…"

"But then…where's Mom?" Chris ventured, deciding to solve the easiest oddity of the moment.

Both looked about the attic. That was…a very good point, thought Wyatt.

"We cast the spell to see mother's memories…I don't understand why we're not seeing things from her point of view."

Wyatt shrugged. "The Powers that Be are assholes," he declared, as though it was a well worn and practiced phrase. "Perhaps witchcraft wanted us to have more than one view here."

Chris shook his head, he didn't care. He was too enthralled watching this man…the other him? The other Chris? Himself? Oh good God he didn't care.

Soon enough, ironically, was Piper, walking in through the attic doorway. Wyatt felt his breath catch; she looked so much like she did now, as he remembered her, but…so young. Beautiful. And with just as high strung a voice as he recalled.

But they apparently weren't meant to last long here. That same whirling, twisting, churning wind struck up again, sweeping them away from the attic, away from their mother, away from…Chris, in a way.

Too bad their confusion couldn't be left behind as well.

)o(

P3. Wyatt had spent so many days growing up playing here before hours. Right now, it seemed to be empty, save for what looked like the janitor making rounds, polishing tables and emptying wastebaskets.

"Where is this?" Chris asked once he got himself orientated.

"Mother runs a nightclub," Wyatt answered, knowing it would be enough to explain. Suddenly those barstool looks so welcome. He lead Chris over and both sat down, enjoying taking the weight off their feet and wishing it would take off their minds as well.

Both sat quietly for a time, trying to make sense of what they had just seen. A time traveler. Chris was a time traveler. Or would be…was? He didn't know. And now their spell was running haywire…he didn't want to share this small anxiety with Chris, this risk that something had gone wrong. He hadn't been lying; it was likely that the magic was taking it's own course to give them an answer, but demon intervention was always an option.

Before they had a chance to speak again, the janitor did it for them, speaking to Chris. But not the 17 year old one; the one in his mothers office.

Wyatt was the one who heard the voice, and yanked a now befuddled Chris to his feet and dragging him to the office, where he knew they wouldn't be seen. Both witches watched in the same dense fog as Chris once again stood before them, early twenties and looking the same yet not.

Chris could see the differences. This man was him, but he looked so unhealthy, so…haunted, he supposed. If this was him, it was a him he didn't recognize.

"Wyatt…there's something wrong with him. That's not me."

"…Time travel is difficult, Chris. I don't know if I can explain it. It is you just it's a past you from the future…I'll explain it when you're older!" he finally dismissed in desperation.

Neither said another word as the wind gusted once again to scoop them away.

)o(

Flashes. That seemed to be all they were getting now. Their first stops had been only windows into a world they didn't remember, but now everything was even quicker. The wind never seemed to quiet. Desperately they clung to each other, bonded more from fear and confusion than a brotherly bond yet.

Voices, more than anything, seemed to echo around them, which shook Chris deeper than any of the flashes they got. It had been years since he truly hear a human voice not raised in anger and fear. It echoed through his head, as though he was simply understanding, more than hearing.

"I'm from the future…I can't tell you that. You cant know. You shouldn't know…you don't know what it was like…the world I came from? You were dead…she died…she dies when I turned 14…"

His voice, as best as he recalled it, grown and mature and he wanted nothing more right now than to block it out. So many years spent wishing to hear, wanting to hear, and now he wanted to close his ears and be enveloped in the silence of his world. More on instinct than anything, he buried his head into Wyatt's chest, terrified of the images surrounding him. That was him, a sword held to his throat by a man he now knew as his father. Him, lying sick, from an illness he couldn't name. Arrows leaving gaping wounds, a voice that should be familiar, telling him she never wanted to see him again…words he should have realized years ago.

Faster, stronger the wind screamed, and neither of the two could believe that anything could be heard over it's howling. But magic wasn't constricted to the binds of logic. This was in their head, it seemed. But that didn't make it any less frightening.

Both clung to each other, Wyatt's straggly curls whipping around his eyes, forcing them closed, yet still he saw. He saw Mother yelling at Chris, telling him to get out of her house. A woman dressed in gothic black, fingernails like claws, and Chris's own eyes glistening over black. Anger raging through him, screaming at someone, that they didn't know him…

After what seemed like hours standing strong against this onslaught, the wind whistled into silence as quickly as it had been brought up. And finally they found themselves back into the attic. Just like before though, something was terribly amiss here. It was dark, yet far too clean. No dust was collected over the trunks, cobwebs had all been swept away…

But there, again, stood Chris, side by side with a beautiful young woman, adorned in leather and brass.

"Do…do you know her, Chris?" he asked softly, as though afraid to be heard. He knew it was impossible, but this tension in the attic air was too thicj to ignore, too suffocating.

He shook his head. He'd never seen her before.

A set of footseps. Several, actually, all slow and in line. Chris followed Wyatt's anxious gaze to the other side of the attic, and instantly balked at the intimidating row of demons that stood there. He'd never actually met one, but their aura was unmistakable to a witch.

But it was who stepped forward between these henchmen that chilled the Halliwell brothers. Slow, measured footsteps, and into the light came a man broad, tall, and powerful, someone who undoubtedly wielded a great deal of magic. But just like the Chris on their right wasn't the Chris at present, neither was this, Wyatt.

His thick tangle of dirty blonde curls was unmistakable, as were his eyes, his handsome face…but other than that, he as almost totally unrecognizable. The magical energy in the room seemed to crackle and spark as the demonic henchmen shimmered out, leaving just the two brothers in the attic, and the young woman standing behind.

Anxiety settled in between the two travelers, watching these…counterparts…standing before each other, tension filling the air.

"Wyatt…what the hell is going on here?" he didn't expect an answer though. One look at Wyatt's face told the nervous boy that his newfound brother didn't have any answers here.

Before them, the two men spoke. They exchanged words of betrayal, scathing, snide insults. There was bitterness in their words, voices that reached even Chris's deafened ears as he stood glued to Wyatt's side.

"I think this is…your time, Chris. Or his time. Future time." He murmured.

Chris shook his head contrarily. "That's. NOT. Me!" he asserted again. And it wasn't. He knew this, strongly and with everything he knew. And that wasn't Wyatt either.

"-I'd kill them on the spot!" came Not-Wyatt's angry, threatening voice. The other Chris just spat back, and Chris couldn't help but notice he was a bit of a bitch. And not very smart-guarded, it seemed, considering a moment later he was on his knees, gasping for breath.

It haunted Wyatt, seeing this. He didn't know Chris. He barely met him days ago, yet the thought of doing what this other him was doing, strangling him, hurting him…he wouldn't do that. This may have been the future, but it wasn't theirs.

"Dad always taught me," Wyatt began slowly, "that for every choice we make in life, there's 100 we didn't make. And each of those choices makes it's own world…"

Chris looked up at him questioningly. "Are you saying that's what this is? Some other world?" Wyatt shrugged. "But then…what choice did this branch off of? You ever wake up one morning and decide to be an evil, homicidal bastard?" a little harsh, but that's what happenes when one sees himself flung across the room into a painful looking pile.

Wyatt's answer was drowned out, though, in that now familiar wind.

)o(

Piper. Finally, after all this time, their mother finally was before them. The woman they'd intended on tailing, but had seen only in glimpses.

She sat in a nursery, adorned with Pooh Bear and other soft plushies, holding a dark haired newborn baby. Once again, another Chris…but they felt sure this was the Chris currently present.

She was smiling. So happy, cooing and rocking her child in her arms…such a change from the madwoman they'd seen earlier that night. That…that wasn't what Piper apparently felt for her son. This woman smiled, she seemed happy, cuddling Chris.

Chris…Wyatt looked to his side, trying to gauge his brothers reaction. This wasn't fair to him, and he knew it. It would kill HIM, he knew, to have gone through what Chris went through, and see a tantalizing view of how it could have been different. What had happened? What could have changed?

Sure enough, Chris's green eyes betrayed what his stoic face tried to conceal. A deepset pain and bitterness.

Silence. Murmurs. Coos. Then, from behind them, a voice. Deep, menacing and it sent a chill down Wyatt's spine as it rung so closely to his own.

"Hello, mother."

)o(

III'm just gonna…leave this here...walk away slowly…see what you think.

Lottsa love,

Syri


End file.
